


A Touch of Magic

by manic_intent



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Always a girl!Bilbo, F/M, Minor Pre-Canon Character Death, NOTE: MOST OF THIS FIC IS T-RATED, That AU where dwarves must be anchored by hobbits to have a measure of magic, semi spirit!hobbits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-04 12:12:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3067400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bofur had to make two rounds of the tent before everything was finally, finally settled to Bella's satisfaction, and she sulked and grumbled yet as he sank down into a chair, exhausted. </p><p>"Why are we doing this again?" Bella complained, not for the first time. She had discovered that Bofur had forgotten all of her favourite handkerchiefs two hours into the expedition setting out of Erebor, and had been in a foul mood ever since. </p><p>“The King called a muster-“</p><p>“No,” Bella interrupted, with a scowl, “Why are <i>we</i> involved?”</p><p>"Because," Bofur began, then he hesitated, playing along with Bella’s mood, tugging at his beard, and conceding, "Y'know, I've quite forgotten."</p><p>"Brilliant!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know where this story idea came from... I think it was after months of catching up on my classic!sci fi reading and Abercrombie's First Law series etc and feeling dissatisfied about the portrayal of female characters in certain books. Oh well. I wrote a little of it after the second film, then it sat on my HDD for a bit until the third film, and… Eh, hope you guys enjoy it. :O
> 
> \--
> 
>  **NOTE** : I've kinda been on a low energy ebb of late, so I'm not sure if I might even finish this WIP... you have been warned.

0.

The dwarves claim that Mahal their Maker shaped them first, and Yavanna, Mahal's wife, created the hobbits after, as spirit to their flesh of stone and clay. The hobbits say that Yavanna Kementári wove the hobbits out of the half-shadows between the Two Trees, to tend to Telperion and sing Laurelin to sleep, and the dwarves came only after: when Mahal had seen what his wife had wrought and had felt a craftsman's jealous curiosity.

Whichever race speaks true matters little: the consequence remains the same - when Ilúvatar rebuked Mahal for creating the unfinished Seven Fathers of the Dwarves, it was Yavanna who bound the spirits of her own creations to her husband's, to form between both races an unbreakable interlinking. For there is no true life without spirit, and no true living without flesh.

With time, the symbiosis between the races grew less desperate. The dwarves grew into sturdy folk, full of a measured breed of energy that was all their own, though they have no innate penchant for magic. The hobbits remained a half-spirit folk, part-shaped, fleeting between Middle Earth and a realm they'll not speak of, even to the dwarves. But sometimes a hobbit will still bind himself or herself a dwarf's soul, oft for reasons he or she will smile of and refuse to explain, and these dwarves, the Blessed, are bound always for greater deeds.

Bofur.

Bofur had to make two rounds of the tent before everything was finally, finally settled to Bella's satisfaction, and she sulked and grumbled yet as he sank down into a chair, exhausted.

"Why are we doing this again?" Bella complained, not for the first time. She had discovered that Bofur had forgotten all of her favourite handkerchiefs two hours into the expedition setting out of Erebor, and had been in a foul mood ever since. 

“The King called a muster-“

“No,” Bella interrupted, with a scowl, “Why are _we_ involved?”

"Because," Bofur began, then he hesitated, playing along with Bella’s mood, tugging at his beard, and conceding, "Y'know, I've quite forgotten."

"Brilliant!"

"But I do think it may have a wee bit to do with one of them dwarven Princes talking _you_ into it,” Bofur noted mildly, even as Bella whirled around, her eyes dark and dangerous as she scowled: it was a pity that the effect was rather ruined by her favourite choice of clothes. 

Unlike the other female hobbits, who love their frills and bustles, Bella liked gadding about in britches and buttoned-up shirts, her breasts bound tight under the linen, and with her thick curls shorn short inches above her shoulders, she looked very much like a slender hobbitling, even dressed up with her vest and pea-green travelling coat, not intimidating in the least. 

“Dwarves!” Bella declared witheringly, even as she stalked over to Bofur's battered travelling chest and plopped herself on top of it, scuffing her bared heels over the packed earth. She sighed, and looked so thoroughly unhappy that Bofur felt moved to offer to make her a cup of tea: at that, Bella grinned, becoming briefly more like her usual self. 

"Well, if you must," she conceded. "I suppose I'll try to make this place a touch more habitable while you're at it."

"We're only staying here overnight, then we'll be packing up and heading on to Khazad-dûm in the mornin'," Bofur pointed out. "There ain't much point."

That only earned him a second glare, and Bofur retreated to the little iron travelling stove that he had thought to pack along, feeding it a few nuggets of coal and getting it puffing. In his peripheral vision, he could see Bella flick in and out of sight, Prime and Other both, sometimes solid, sometimes a pale, bluish translucent outline, arranging the travelling chests and cots to her satisfaction. The kettle whistled when Bella seemed satisfied, little fists pressed at her hips as she twitched her nose, and Bofur hid a grin. So very proper, even when marching to war. 

“This is ridiculous,” Bella muttered, when she was perched on one of the travelling chests, balancing a saucer in one petite hand, handling the delicate cup of tea in the other. “Taking back Khazad-dûm indeed! That tomb is just a well full of death and orcs. Ered Luin’s construction is comfortably under way. Why, in Yavanna’s name, do we need _another_ war?”

“There _is_ that matter of them murdering the previous King,” Bofur said wryly. He had not yet been born when the Calamity had exiled the dwarves from the Lonely Mountain, but he had grown up through the teething stages of Ered Luin’s construction. They had not yet the forces to spend on a war of this magnitude.

“Blast,” Bella blew out another sigh, her expression clouding briefly. “I must speak to the Old Gaffer again.”

“The Old Gaffer might be bound to the Chancellor,” Bofur said gently, “But he’s got no hold on King Thráin. Bella, I don’t like war either. But Azog murdered the old King. Cut him to pieces. Threw his body to the crows. That’s a grudge that has to be answered.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Bella took another sip of tea, her tone mulish. “For the result of war is always death, and some of this muster will never go home: their bodies will feed the crows in turn.” 

“Aye,” Bofur agreed, “But some of the Orcs will also feed the crows, and with that I s’pose the higher ups will be happy enough. Now there’s nothin’ we can do about it, aye? So have another cuppa, and then y’should turn in for the night. Get some shut-eye.”

“I suppose,” Bella exhaled, then she narrowed her eyes, glancing over her shoulder at the tent flap, her head cocked. As Bofur raised an eyebrow, she shrugged, set the cup down carefully on the chest, and vanished. 

Bofur hesitated only a moment before he finished his tea and started clearing the cups and saucers. He had cleaned and wiped down Bella’s set by the time there was a polite cough outside the tent, and he shook his head slowly, dried down his hands, and pulled his cap on.

Outside, the dwarven encampment had settled down in orderly ranks for the night: latrines dug, perimeter enforced with stakes, guards posted, even for a one night stay. Prince Thorin’s lean, solemn face was etched with shadow from the lantern that he held, still dressed for war, in mail and plate. He frowned slightly as Bofur emerged, his eyes darting briefly over Bofur’s shoulder.

“May I speak to Bella?” Thorin asked, his tone brusque, and for all that Bofur was used to the jealousy that Thorin wore in his eyes by now, it had been a long march, and he was a little too tired to play at being an intermediary, making his manner short and curt.

“She’s not about. Off to the Other, I don’t doubt.”

“When?”

“Left after she had a warm cuppa.” 

“Call her back,” Impatience crept into Thorin’s tone, turning it edged. “I wish to speak to her.”

“Well,” Bofur scratched at his bearded jaw, “I don’t know how t’put this in a polite way, your Highness. But she doesn’t care to speak t’you, at least not right now, for I think she flit off when she heard you coming. Sorry,” he added, in a more conciliatory tone, when Thorin’s jaw clenched tight. “Maybe try tomorrow, during the march. She’s had a bad day.”

“Why? What happened?” Concern overrode Thorin’s raw envy, if only for a moment. “Is she all right?”

“Forgot her hankies, doesn’t like being away from her books, long march, upcoming war… could be any one or all of those,” Bofur pointed out blandly. “Maybe tomorrow she’ll have calmed down some,” Bofur added soothingly. “Try again then.”

Thorin’s glower held for a heartbeat more, then he turned away. “Very well,” he bit out, and took a step, before hesitating. “If there’s something that I could do…”

“I’ll let you know.” Bofur cut in quickly, before Thorin decided to hang about. Thorin nodded and strode away, his step stiff-backed and clearly frustrated. 

Bofur watched him go, threading his way through the neat ranks of pitched tents, then he sighed to himself and returned to his. He’d never been much of a royalist: few of the miners were, especially those versed with the deep stone, but Bofur _did_ feel sorry for the Prince now and then. Still. Bella hadn’t yet returned, not that Bofur thought that she would, so there was nowt that Bofur could do about it. Instead, he finished neatening up the tent, putting away the cleaned cups, before turning in for the night for an uneasy sleep.

Bella.

Bofur was snoring in his cot when Bella stepped back into the Prime, his snore already well into its stride, capping off long, snuffling rumbles with bubbling sighs, and Bella smiled faintly to herself, checked on her Anchor’s furs, and tidied the tent up, humming softly under her breath.

Night had turned the air bitingly cold, even in the tent, and Bella wrapped a heavier wool coat from her trunk around herself, her breath puffing softly in the air as she rebuilt the fire in the stove and then sat herself on bedroll before it, watching the fire curl and flicker. 

They were growing close to Khazad-dûm, and even here, the earth was soaked with the pale memory of violent deaths. Bella could see the shreds of lingering souls, formless and trapped between the Prime and the Veil, flickering and dull in the air like so many shreds of gossamer. 

A touch of Yavanna’s grace sent those about her away, further into the Veil, but the effort and proximity of it woke Bofur, as much as she had tried to shield the feedback through their binding: there was a sleepy, “Bella?” from the cot as she waved away the last to its subdued rest. 

“Go back to sleep.”

Bofur yawned, shifting under his furs. “Did you just get back?”

“Aye.” Bella forced a smile. “Sleep.”

“You had a visitor,” Bofur continued, sleep-slurred. 

“I know. I hope he didn’t make any trouble.”

“No. But you know our kind,” Bofur said gently. “We’re a stubborn folk, and if you avoid him, the prince is just going to get more determined.” When Bella didn’t reply, Bofur added, “And y’can’t avoid him forever.” 

Dwarves! “I _know_ ,” Bella said grumpily. “Go back to sleep. I’m sorry that I woke you.”

“S’not your fault,” Bofur yawned, though he pulled the furs as far up against his chin as they would go, and burrowed back into the warmth.

Bella stared at the fire for as long as she could bear it, until Bofur’s breathing evened out again, then Bella sighed to herself, twitched her nose, and pulled on a sensible pair of gloves. Outside, the chill was worse, settling into her bones even through her coat and furs and boots, and Bella grumbled to herself, breathing out, then stamping over to the next shredded shade. 

Absorbed in her task, Bella made a slow circuit of the camp, startling the occasional patrol, the guards blinking at her whenever she passed, but sidestepping away with a respectful nod. Those whose souls had not been bound could not see what she was working at, but few of the Gentlefolk liked to wander out past nightfall save where necessary, and the guards simply assumed she was engaged in something important. 

The restive animals in the pens settled down when Bella sent away the shades there, and Myrtle even ambled over to sniff for apples. Bella patted the wiry mane of her pony affectionately, then had to bite down a yelp as behind her, Thorin said quietly, “Odd hour to be out and about.”

“Could say the same for you,” Bella retorted, closing her eyes for a moment, praying silently for patience. “Shouldn’t you be abed?”

“I had trouble sleeping.” Thorin stepped around her, leaning a hip against the newly built paddock fence. His handsome, grave face looked tired and worn, and Bella tried not to stare, at the jealousy that would have flattened Thorin’s mouth into a thin line, at the question that always sat in Thorin’s eyes. 

“A warm drink could do you good.”

“I doubt it.” Thorin’s next breath shook out of him, unsteady and quick, then he reached into his thick coat and pulled out a slim volume and a folded fabric square. “Here. Bofur said that you forgot your books and your handkerchiefs.” 

Bella kept her hands to herself for only a heartbeat before greed took over, and Thorin smiled as Bella glanced at the cover of the book while tucking the handkerchiefs into a pocket. As was the case with all gifts from Thorin, it had obviously been carefully chosen, and probably difficult to acquire: it was a Westron book, a volume of riverfolk songs. Despite herself, Bella grinned with pleasure, and Thorin’s smile widened, his gaze softening, and Valar give her strength. Thorin, like this, was-

“Thanks,” Bella tucked the book away as well. “But you really should rest.”

“I needed to speak to you first. We didn’t part on good terms.”

“You’ll have your war,” Bella waved in the vague direction of Khazad-dûm, the mountainous peaks no longer visible in the gloom. “And I am here. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Thorin grimaced. “You are displeased.”

“I’m not the only one displeased. Hobbits aren’t exactly enamoured of war. They tend to be nasty affairs that end in nothing better than tears.” 

“I was hoping,” Thorin’s voice dropped, almost inaudibly, though he didn’t avert his eyes, “That you would have chosen to bind your soul to _mine_.”

Bella sighed. Trust Thorin to cut straight to the heart of it. “Surely you know that wasn’t going to be possible. No hobbits may bind themselves to the line of Durin. _Particularly_ not to its Crown Prince.”

“I would have allowed succession to pass me by.”

“You’ll make a good king, and a just one, I hope,” Bella retorted. “While I’m happy with my choice. Are we done here?”

“Do you…” Thorin looked away. “Do you love Bofur?”

“He is a friend, and a great friend, at that; his feet are rooted to the deep stone, and his heart’s not swayed by power.” Bella said, with a sigh. “While yours is a hungry soul, Thorin son of Thráin, and if I must be honest, political neutrality is not the reason why we hobbits do not bind ourselves to the line of Durin.” 

Thorin’s eyes flashed at that, his hands clenching into fists, and he scowled as he stared at his feet. “I’ve told you this before,” Bella added, forcing her tone to gentle. “Besides. What’s done is done.” 

“It can be undone,” Thorin ventured, because if dwarves were stubborn as a race, their royalty was far worse, and Bella grit her teeth, swallowing her instinctive spark of temper. “You say that I have a hungry soul. Explain.” When Bella said nothing, Thorin added, more tentatively, “The gold-sickness?” 

“In a way.” Bella patted Thorin’s arm lightly. “And more. Look at all this, Thorin,” Bella said quietly, with a gesture at the camp. “We were doing well in Ered Luin. The harvests were improving, trade growing strong with the fisherfolk and Bree and the townships thereabouts. To wage war over an old dwarven hold would waste lives that we could scarce afford: of your folk and mine.” 

“It is our curses that we bring to Azog,” Thorin said stiffly. “He killed my _grandfather_. It is not something that can be forgiven - or forgotten. Even the Old Gaffer agreed. I don’t see what this has to do with your choice.” Thorin hesitated, frowning for a moment. “Had we not mustered for war… would your choice have been different?”

“No,” Bella said, and it was not quite a lie: for she would never have chosen Thorin, tempting as it might have been, but without the war she would have chosen no one, and stayed rooted in Yavanna’s Garden instead of anchored in the Prime. 

“Good morrow then,” Thorin said stiffly, hurt nonetheless, and it showed in his eyes if not his tone, “I hope that you enjoy the book.” He inclined his head and stalked away, shoulders hunched, and Bella breathed out into the chill, and nearly flinched when Myrtle nudged her shoulder hopefully. 

“Dwarf folk!” Bella muttered, though there was no bite in it, and she pulled herself up to sit on the paddock fence, kicking her furred feat into the air. She opened the book even as Myrtle snuffled hopefully again at her pockets, and read a few pages in the dim light of the lantern set at the paddock, even as the cold settled more and more heavily in her bones. 

When she returned to the tent, Bofur was up, a pot of tea already whistling at the stove, and he stared at Bella in alarm for a moment before grabbing a bear fur off the cot and draping her in it. “Mahal’s balls,” he swore, “It’s too cold out for whatever you were doing!”

“Just needed to think,” Bella chattered, shivering as Bofur fussed over her and pressed a cup of hot tea into her hands, warm even through her gloves. “It’s good that you’re up and about early. How’s practice?”

“Ah,” Bofur settled down heavily in another stool near the warm stove, his expression pulling somber. “Well, ah. Little has changed, on that front. I’m still not too sure what the binding can do… eh… what the binding would _let_ me do, and like I’ve said before, I’ve already talked to the Chancellor and Dwalin… and even Nori about it. I can’t do anything that they can do.” 

Bella nodded slowly. Balin and Dwalin were bound to the Old Gaffer and Drogo Baggins respectively, and Nori to Paladin Took; and the binding had manifested itself in the ways of war for the line of Fundin, as it always had, and the walks of shadow for Nori. But for Bofur, Yavanna’s touch seemed elusive, and they were yet to discover what form their binding had taken. Bella hadn’t yet been willing to make the problem common knowledge, but the pressure was starting to take a toll on Bofur, that much had been obvious. Thorin’s visit and open jealousy likely hadn’t helped, damn the prince.

“It’ll take time,” she lied, and forced regret behind her. “Come on. We could start with a few exercises.”


	2. Chapter 2

Paladin.

It was a relief to slip from the Prime into Yavanna’s Garden, especially as the nights grew ever colder, and Paladin stretched and yawned luxuriously as he stepped from the icy chill into the eternal summer twilight.

To the untrained eye, the landscape would seem utterly alien, with its vast, towering trees and rich knee-length grass and undergrowth, wild beyond any touch of the Prime Races, but the hobbits knew that the Garden was but another facet of the Prime, and the spot on which Paladin now stood, beside the huge bulk of a redwood tree as wide and as tall as any tower of Man, was the exact spot on which he had last stood in the Prime. The Garden was an echo of Middle Earth as it once was; the Prime the state of the earth as it was now, and the Grey Havens was a reflection of the world as it would be.

The hobbits were ‘encamped’ in a bowl-like depression of soft grass in a circle of oak trees, the ground dusted with acorns, and everything: hobbits, trees, grass and sky alike, were all touched with a faint, otherworldly luminescence. Unlike the orderly ranks of the dwarven encampment, the hobbits were all either strolling about, enjoying the Garden, or sitting in groups, or… Bella looked up from a huddle of other Baggins folk as he approached, with something like naked relief on her face that smoothed hastily into politeness. 

“How did the scout run go?” 

“Fine. Ran into a couple of pockets of goblins, nothing that Nori couldn’t handle.” Paladin settled down on a large tree root, and after a moment, Bella climbed on as well, with a pointed stare at her relatives that dispersed them. Paladin arched an eyebrow at her and lowered his voice. “Trouble?”

“Well,” Bella muttered, “We’re a few days’ march into orc territory, and Bofur’s still no closer to finding out what our binding manifests as. That _Lobelia_ went as far as to suggest that I choose someone else!”

“Calm down,” Paladin said hastily, having been an inadvertent victim of Bella’s temper before, in a misunderstanding involving a pie and a bagful of baccy. “She spoke out of turn.”

“So she did!”

“But it’s what she does,” Paladin patted Bella’s elbow soothingly. “Don’t take it to heart. It’s not unheard of for the manifest to take time.”

“But it’s rare,” Bella conceded, with a sudden, deep sigh. “Oh Paladin! Whatever could be wrong?” 

“That’s for you to figure out,” Paladin told her gently. “Come on. You know your Anchor best. A manifest usually expresses itself as a part of an Anchor’s soul. It’ll come as something that he’s good at.”

“So I thought,” Bella said, staring at her hands. “Bofur’s a miner. I thought it’ll be… earth magic of some sort, or a stone sense, or bulwark magic or even wards. He’s got no affinity in the least for such.” 

“Then perhaps it’s something else.”

“What else could it be?” Bella asked grumpily. 

“A miner is what Bofur _does_ ,” Paladin pointed out. “It mightn’t be what he _is_. D’you see? Just be patient, and keep… trying. We’ve got a ways to go yet before we reach orc territory.”

Bella twitched her nose, hugging herself for a moment, then she sighed again, long and loud. “What if… Paladin, what if we reach Khazad-dûm proper, and Bofur still doesn’t have a manifest?”

“Then I suppose,” Paladin said doubtfully, “That he could either fight with the rest of the infantry, if he knows how to use that mattock he carries around, or…”

“Or?”

“Or you do what needs to be done,” Paladin noted firmly, steeling himself for an outburst of temper, but Bella merely twitched her nose again and stared at her feet. “Bella, you’re one of the best of us. That thing you did a few days back, when you sent back all the shades? How many of us could’ve done that single-handedly, just like that? Out in the Prime, too, with nowt to draw on?”

“My mum could’ve done it,” Bella muttered. “Prim too. Maybe the Old Bolger. And-“

“But _I_ couldn’t,” Paladin interrupted. “Look, Bella. Everyone knows that Prince Thorin is sweet on you-“

“ _What_.”

“He’s only been _incredibly_ obvious about it,” Paladin said dryly, “What with asking the Old Gaffer whether bindings could be broken, and what with the way he’s always dogging your heels when you’re out and about in the Prime, and-“

“… Yes, yes,” Bella scowled. “I’ve told him to stop. It isn’t right.”

“Whether it’s right or not,” Paladin forged on manfully, “The word around is, ah, that you might’ve, maybe, rushed your choice on Bofur a little, and-“

“ _I did not!_ ”

“-and maybe, although no one’s saying that Thorin is the right choice either, maybe, if things don’t work out, well, um.” Paladin faltered under Bella’s glare, holding his hands palms up in a gesture of surrender. “That’s just what I’ve heard, is all.”

“I didn’t _rush_ my choice,” Bella muttered. “Bofur’s an old friend. And Thorin is from the line of Durin. Besides, there’s no restriction on _our_ choices. _Your_ Nori isn’t exactly one of them noblefolk either.”

“Oh aye, and he told me to tell you, to Mahal’s balls with what everyone else thinks,” Paladin said dryly, prompting a faint, if tired grin from Bella. “I’m just saying. Sometimes the bindings just don’t work out to anything more. Which is fine, when it’s peacetime and all. But you’re tremendously gifted, Bella. And personally, I think that if we’ve got to face Azog, I hope that we can do it when your magic has a full anchor to the Prime. Whatever form that takes.”

Bella glanced up, at the crowns of the great trees that once grew proud and wild upon the lands. “If it comes to that,” she said softly, “Then I will do what I must.” 

“Sorry,” Paladin offered. “I know what it’s like, you know. When I chose Nori, it wasn’t exactly… popular.”

“But you’re a Took,” Bella pointed out, with a wry smile. 

“Oh aye, a Took, but I’m in line to head our clan, and my da’ thought that Nori was maybe… not quite too suited. It’s different now,” Paladin added. “Nori’s charmed them over to his side.” 

“You mean Dori did,” Bella corrected, for Dori was wildly popular with the hobbit folk, what with his fussy ways and his skills with the needle and his expertise on tea, very much like a hobbit in dwarf form. But it was unlikely that a tailor would be chosen for a binding.

Or miners. Paladin looked up as well, to the distant starless sky, and said, out aloud, “You know that mere friendship or talent isn’t why we choose our Anchors, aye?” 

“I won’t have chosen anyone at all, if I hadn’t been dragged along into this mess.” 

Paladin grimaced. “You know… that could be the root of the problem, at that. Just saying,” he added hastily, when Bella frowned at him. “Look at what you just said, Bella. You never wanted to choose anyone at all. Maybe it’s… maybe that’s why you’re not synching with Bofur.” 

“Maybe,” Bella looked thoughtful. “Thanks. That gives me an idea.”

“Don’t mention it,” Paladin said, managing a smile as Bella squeezed his palm lightly and vanished, stepping from the twilight summer into the Prime. Across the bowl of grass, Lobelia glanced over at him with an open question on her sour face, and Paladin stuck his tongue out at her before he, too, stepped back into the Prime. 

Nori didn’t even look up from where he was carefully mending a corner of his old coat. “Talked to Bella?” 

Paladin plopped down on a chair in their untidy tent, tugging his own fur coat more firmly around him. “She’s being stubborn about it all.”

“She’s half a Took and half a Baggins, sure she is,” Nori shrugged. “Did you tell her not to give up?”

“Sort of.” Paladin hedged, and Nori exhaled irritably. “We need her, Nori.”

“Bofur’s good for her,” Nori threaded a stitch out with deft fingers. “Mahal’s _beard_. I wish that all of you could see that.”

Thorin.

The orc raid attacked at dusk, swarming out of a nearby barrow thought to be empty, and flooded in a snarling, shrieking tide towards the encampment as it was being set up. Thorin’s own surprise lasted only a heartbeat more before his training took over, and he drew his blade. “ _Du bekâr! Du bekâr!_ ” Thorin cried, as chaos boiled in the dwarven camp. “Shields at the ready!”

“Form ranks!” he heard his father echo, in another corner of the encampment. “The enemy is at the gate!” 

With dwarven precision, the army formed up, all orderly lines of steel tower shields and spears, the axemen in a row behind, the bowmen already lined up. 

“Bowmen! Draw!” Thráin bellowed, and the thrum of hundreds of bows hummed behind Thorin, as the clangour and chaos of the orc line advanced, goblins underfoot, hissing and grinning, orcs in their patchwork black iron hauberks behind, with their fanged, crude blades in their fists. Black-fletched arrows were already singing out of the orc ranks, to shatter and stitch across the raised tower shields. And behind the bowmen, advancing to the fore, was a cave troll, bellowing and grunting, driven forward by an orc seated on a crude harness on its back. Silently, Thorin bared his teeth. 

“Fire!” Thráin commanded, once the main ranks were within range.

“ _Fire!_ ” Thorin echoed, and the first rank of arrows whistled through orderly gaps in the tower shields, to fell orc and goblin alike. Further down the line, he could hear Frerin laughing, hearty and delighted, at the promise of mayhem.

“Draw!” Thráin snarled again. “ _Ithrikî_! _Fire_!” 

More of the orcs fell, only to be trampled underfoot; while they had the greater number, orcs would not falter, would not fear. Now the orcs were too close for bows, and Thráin bellowed, “ _Ifridî bekâr_!” as the orc tide broke upon the shield lines, scrabbling and stabbing, the foul breath of the orc army washing upon them. “Now! _Baruk Khazâd!_ ”

“ _Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!_ ” Frerin roared, and the war cry was picked up in the ranks, bellowed from over a thousand throats as the dwarven muster pressed forward, shields first, then axes, pushing back the orc lines, then shattering them. Thorin parried a downward sweep of a fanged blade, angling his own sword up through a gap in an orc’s hauberk to his heart, and raised his shield to block another slice. It was hackwork that they did in such close quarters, not subtlety, and dwarven discipline held fast; they gained ground, inch by inch-

The cave troll shrilled, and began to lumber forward, crushing orc and goblin aside as it raised its huge stone club, ploughing towards dwarven lines, and even as Thorin started towards it instinctively, he saw a pale blue flash flicker into existence behind the troll, and Nori was there, his daggers held low, hamstringing the troll with a deft swipe, then flickering away again as the troll bellowed and tried to turn. 

A sweep of the stone club scattered orc and dwarf alike, as the cave troll stumbled in a drunken circle, enraged by pain, then flinching back and snarling as arrows that seemed fletched by blue light darted out of the dwarf ranks, sinking through its tough hide instead of glancing off like normal arrows. 

“ _Id-umhâd!_ ” came the roar from the ranks, as the Blessed joined the fray, “ _Id-ukrâf!_ ”

To Thorin’s left, Balin flowed like quicksilver out through the ranks of shields, his mace-like blade flickering faster than the eye could see, limmed in blue as it cleaved through flesh and armour alike. Further away, near Frerin’s ranks, there was an ululating roar, then a sudden explosive shockwave of blue light, as orcs and goblins were swept away from Dwalin like so much hewn wheat. 

“Forward!” Thráin bellowed, and Thorin echoed, “Push them back!” 

The dwarven ranks linked up, advancing in a purposeful line, shields up, forcing the orc lines back. The cave troll shrieked again, as a blue arrow slew its rider, and as it took a limping step forward, Nori appeared on its back, sinking both blades into its skull and _twisting_ , frowning in concentration as he rode the body down, the cave troll’s bulk crushing orcs beneath it as it fell.

That seemed to be the breaking point for the orc army: a low groan rippled through their ranks, and then they broke lines and started to flee - over the land, towards Khazad-dûm; a wild stampede that trampled their own kin. The dwarves pursued them, cutting down what they could, trimming the back flanks of the demoralised orc army; until Thráin finally called for a halt, against the banks of the Gianduin, the valley beneath them, shadows cloaking the Gate of Moria beyond.

“Throat-cutters to work,” Thráin ordered, even as he frowned at the valley beyond, his hands clenched into fists. “Frerin, Thorin, see to the encampment. Balin, Oin, the wounded.”

Thorin acknowledged the order with a nod, and turned back towards the half-finished encampment, Frerin jogging over to his side. Golden-haired and grinning hugely, Frerin looked as though he had just emerged from a feasting, not a battle, if not for the black blood that drenched his greaves and bracers; he was still wiping off his sword on a rag. 

“Not bad for a first taste of battle,” Frerin told Thorin, forever good-natured and amused, as he sheathed his blade. “Sister will be _so_ envious that she was left out of it.”

Thorin grimaced. Their father was rather traditional, even for the dwarves, and as such, their sister Dís had remained as regent in Ered Luin, instead of joining her brothers at war. She had _not_ been pleased. “She was best suited to rule in father’s place.” 

“ _You’re_ meant to rule in father’s place,” Frerin reminded him, with a sharp, if playful grin. “No pretty hobbit lass can change that… Oh, come _on_ , brother,” Frerin laughed, as Thorin glared at him. “It’s _only_ been obvious to _everyone_.” 

“She chose Bofur,” Thorin muttered, and the now-familiar jealousy coiled within him with a dull and angry ache. 

“As well she should.” Frerin clapped him on the back. “The hobbits have lived among the dwarves since the beginning of time. But they’re _not_ dwarves, brother, however pretty you might think that lass is. Might be that no one might care, _maybe_ , if you were just a son from a merchant house or something. But _you’re_ the Crown Prince of the line of Durin.” 

“Believe me, brother,” Thorin grit out, “I know my place.” 

“All right. No need to get angry,” Frerin said soothingly. “Besides. Chin up. _There_ she is.” 

“What-“ Thorin looked around sharply, but Frerin was already advancing forward, to where Bofur was standing beside one of the slain, an infantry soldier with his armour crushed against his flank, probably from a blow by the cave troll. The miner looked tired, his armour stained with orc blood, and he was carefully helping two soldiers load the dead onto a wagon, to be buried in cairns under construction beside the road. Dwarves were orderly and pragmatic, even in the face of loss.

Bella didn’t seem to notice their approach, looking diminutive and small beside the wagon, again dressed oddly in breeches and loose shirts that made her look more like a male hobbit than a female one from afar, her face tipped up as she looked at something in the air that no one could see, then sketched a gesture with her palm that flared a brief, pale blue. She picked her way further down, to another dwarven body, and looked up again, silent for a moment before she made the same gesture, then abruptly, she glanced over her shoulder at Frerin’s noisy step.

“Prince Frerin,” Bella said formally. 

“Mistress Baggins! Glad to see you and your Anchor unhurt. How was your first battle?”

“It went,” Bella’s tone turned frosty, as she looked at the dead about them, “Just as I expected.” 

Thorin grimaced, hastily pushing over to grasp Frerin’s wrist, tugging pointedly. “Frerin, father wanted us to see to the encampment. _Remember_?”

“Oh, I can do that,” Frerin said breezily, “How about you keep the lady company for a bit, eh?” He clapped Thorin on the shoulder again, inclined his head to Bella, and ambled off towards the tent line, leaving Thorin standing a little awkwardly beside Bella.

“What were you doing?” Thorin asked, out of a lack of anything else to say. 

Thinking coherently always seemed difficult around Bella, even now, in such somber circumstances; more than not, Thorin said little or nothing at all or ended up giving offense, especially recently. It was easier before, Thorin thought glumly, when they were children, in a pack of young dwarves and hobbits both whom cared little for the business of titles and anchors. 

“Giving the dead peace,” Bella said, a little evasively, as she looked him over, then walked on to the next crumpled body. “Those who die violently on cursed lands as these are often sundered from the Gray Lands.”

“You can do that? Without… By yourself?”

“Spirits aren’t part of the Prime.” Bella lifted her chin again, waiting for a moment, then she sketched her gesture in the air. “I let them tell me their name,” she explained, before Thorin could ask. “Hfrun. Son of Nofrun.” 

“He will be welcome in the halls of our fathers,” Thorin murmured, and Bella glared at him briefly before she jerked her stare away. 

“Shouldn’t you be off doing princely things?”

“There _are_ two princes.”

“Oh yes, _Frerin_ ,” Bella said dryly. “If you don’t watch that one, the latrines will be built next to the mess tents and the quartermaster will be right next to the watch."

“Frerin is not _that_ incapable,” Thorin said defensively, though he couldn’t help a wry smile.

“I’ve known your brother near as long as you have.” Bella exhaled out aloud, then turned to face him. “Thorin, look at all this. You’ve taken casualties. And for what?”

“We fought off the orcs.”

“Azog wasn’t in that lot, and you know what that means.”

Thorin nodded grimly. The orc raid had merely been sent to harry them, to test their strength. “I know. But we slew far more of their number than-“

“This isn’t some sort of… of _calculus_ of numbers,” Bella cut in, then she blew out a harsh sigh. “Just go, Thorin. I don’t want to have to talk to any of you right now.” 

Thorin grit his teeth, but he nodded curtly and turned on his heel. Bofur glanced up in the middle of helping to load another body onto a cart, but Thorin avoided his stare, striding over the loose stone and towards the camp, his temper sour in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief explanation for those who are still confused: Have you guys seen [Shadows of Mordor]? It’s a great game that takes place on some fuzzy timeline, but basically a ranger got semi-possessed by an elf spirit, and they kinda cohabit in semi-ish harmony, and the spirit possession allows the ranger to do supernatural stuff, like shoot spirit arrows, or stealth kill, or read minds etc. 
> 
> Similarly, in this case, hobbit magic can touch other planes of existence: eg spirit realm and Yavanna’s Garden, so Bella is able to ‘send back’ trapped spirits that haven’t passed on, etc. But she’s unable to affect matters on the Prime unless she does it through the ‘possessed’ Anchor - Bofur, in this case. Hobbits also have the same lifespan as dwarves.
> 
> Usually, Anchors manifest traits, just like in Shadows of Mordor, like stealth abilities (Nori), or combat abilities etc (Dwalin and Balin), but so far, Bofur’s having a problem…


	3. Chapter 3

Nori.

“This is why you don’t have any friends,” Paladin whispered into Nori’s ear, near as silent as the wind, as Nori darted behind a noisy patrol and behind a wagon, barrels of mead still loaded upon it, and Nori bared his teeth into a grin.

“I’m friends with Bella,” Nori murmured, glancing around the edge of the wagon to check for wary eyes, but he knew from experience that dwarven sentries looked outwards, not in, and all he truly had to be wary of were the roaming guards. 

“Any _normal_ friends,” Paladin amended, his form flickering briefly in and out of the Prime, and Nori bared his teeth again as he scuttled from the shadow of the wagon to behind a supply tent, his footsteps absolutely silent. “And _everyone’s_ friends with Bella.” 

“So?” Nori weaved from tent to tent, easily avoiding patrols, not even having to reach for the binding. “She still counts.” He had to scramble under a wagon, once, as a noisy gaggle of infantry clanged past on their way to the mess tent, brash and boisterous, and Paladin was giggling into his ear: his Tookish blood loved mayhem.

Getting into the command tent proved trickier: cutting a hole in the back would probably draw undue notice, and the ornate entrance was heavily guarded. 

“A distraction?” Nori mused, as he eyed the setup from behind a neat stack of crated foodstuffs.

“Too obvious.”

“Disguise?”

“Possibly. But too long.” 

“Head-on?”

Paladin sighed. “You remember what happened the last time. Everyone gets upset and there’s _such_ a to-do, you’d think we set fire to all of Erebor.” 

True. Nori hummed to himself, watching the guard patrols clank here and there, and after a long moment, he exhaled. “Oh, well. I concede.”

“You did fair well coming all the way in without the binding,” Paladin said magnanimously, “But I told you the last bit would be too hard.” 

“Glóin’s work, I don’t wonder.” Nori grumbled, and reached for the binding, the touch of the Other that blurred the world to gray about him, the shadow-walk: in this halfway place he could step as lightly as an invisibly as a wraith. 

In the halfway world, his own kin were visible as dull blurs, just like the landscape, but the other hobbits about flared up like beacons in the halfway sight, some a brilliant pink, some yellow, some blue: Paladin had always refused to explain it. Staying in the halfway world drew notice, though; Nori was quick to sidestep behind a patrol and _through_ the thin gray of the tent flap, into the command tent itself, and step out of the halfway world behind a heavy chest, crouching low. 

The noblefolk were all clustered around a heavy map at a table: Nori recognised Dwalin and Balin, Thorin and Frerin, King Thráin and Lord Náin of the Iron Hills, with his son Dáin, here at last to bolster their forces, but most surprising of all was the crouched form of a Man, awkwardly tall for the tent even seated, dressed in dull blue and gray wools, his eyes hidden under the brim of a battered hat with a bent tip. 

“Oh,” Paladin murmured into his ear, with surprise, but when Nori tilted his head in a silent query, Paladin didn’t answer. 

Frowning to himself, Nori ducked out from behind the chest on silent feet, padding towards the table, but just as he drew close, the old Man said, without looking up, “Ah, and this must be Nori… and Paladin Took. It’s been quite a while since I last encountered one of Yavanna’s Children.”

The dwarves at the table startled apart, but the Man glanced at Nori with a look of amusement and sly pleasure. To Nori’s further shock, Paladin stepped out of the Other, as well, where he usually hid away when dwarf lords were about, and walked right up to the Man, grinning. “Gandalf! We don’t see you in the Garden quite as much as we like.”

Nori stared at the Man in shock. “He can walk into the Other?”

“Well,” Paladin said, looking puzzled at Nori’s astonishment, “Gandalf is a Wizard.” 

King Thráin recovered first, with a little frown that promised a dressing down when the Wizard was gone. “Nori. Any reports from your foray?”

“The Watcher at the Gate is still. The orc are emerging in their ranks, reinforcing the valley and the cliffsides. They’ll charge us when they’re mustered.”

“What of Azog?” Thráin asked sharply. 

“He’s there, all right,” Nori said flatly. “Worse. He’s got wargs. From Gundabad, I don’t wonder. The cursed things sniffed me out when I tried to get close. It was blastedly hard to get away clean.” 

“Wargs!” Balin muttered. “Ill news.” For with sufficient numbers, wargs were a fair counter to the Blessed, with their speed, savagery, and instinct for the halfway realms: their jaws could crush Anchors to death, wrenching Anchors and bound hobbits alike away into the Gray Lands. 

“There’s a huge pack of the damned things,” Nori noted grimly. “Counted at least a hundred of them. Must’ve emptied the black woods around Gundabad.”

“Hum!” Gandalf closed his eyes, frowning to himself. “That’s what I feared. Azog’s called in favours.”

“I didn’t think that orcs could do that,” Frerin said, looking surprised. 

“By all that I’ve heard,” Gandalf said soberly, “The orcs are desperate to hold on to their current territories in Moria. I can’t imagine why. Surely it would be tactically better for them to lure your people into Moria itself, to battle you in chambers that they could have trapped, force your armies into bottlenecks. And yet they’ve come out.”

“Orcs aren’t exactly known for their tactical genius, thank Mahal,” Thráin grunted. “If we can spill enough orc blood on the steps of Khazad-dûm to chase the orc-kind away from these lands forever: so much the better.” 

“Aye,” Dáin agreed, “That’s the spirit!” The very young lordling of the Iron Hills was probably around his cousin Prince Thorin’s age, as far as Nori could tell, brash and loud, his hair combed into a florid orange crest. “We’ll grind those foul bastards into the ground!” 

“I would advice _caution_ ,” Gandalf studied the map thoughtfully. “There’s something strange about the orc. That’s why I’ve come.”

“Caution?” Thráin demanded, incredulous. “My _father_ was murdered, his body _defiled_! _Caution_?”

Paladin winced, flickering hastily out into the Other, but Thráin didn’t seem to notice, his eyes fixed angrily on Gandalf, who stared back at him calmly, not intimidated in the least. “My dear Thráin,” Gandalf said wearily, “I knew your father, and his father before him, all the way to your ancestor Durin the Deathless, and I’ve always been fond of your line. It is not in disservice to your House that I urge caution.”

Thráin looked away with a scowl so dark that his sons exchanged uneasy glances over the map, then, to Nori’s surprise, the solemn Prince Thorin asked, quietly, “Do you have a plan then, Gandalf? For we are encamped already before the enemy, and I do not doubt that once _they_ are fully mustered, they will attack _us_ , if they are, as you say, so desperate to hold what they have stolen.”

“Hm,” Gandalf studied Thorin with a look of mild amusement, then he looked over to Nori, who blinked and fought the urge to sidestep into the halfway world. “You have in Nori here an excellent spy. If I could get him into Khazad-dûm, perhaps he could tell us _why_ Azog is so determined.”

“Khazad-dûm is _huge_ ,” Náin said gruffly, “And the wargs have come. Even had they not, Nori cannot remain indefinitely in the halfway world. Paladin Took has not the strength to hold him there for prolonged periods of time. It’ll be suicide.”

“Not if most of the orcs are _outside_ Khazad-dûm,” Nori ventured.

“The problem remains that there is only _one_ immediate way into Khazad-dûm, and that Gate is currently surrounded by orc. As to the East Gate, it’s across the mountain range: Nori would take _weeks_ to traverse it, for he’ll have to circle about to find a safe path,” Balin said, tracing one such path with a stubby index finger on the map.

“Fall back here,” Gandalf stabbed a bony finger at the Gianduin, where a dwarf rune marked a spot as an old outpost, long abandoned. “Fortify the outpost and hold your position. I can lead Nori through the mountain paths and to the East Gate.”

“The mountains are overrun with orc,” Thráin growled, “And worse besides, as the chill comes and food grows scarce for the monsters of the land; and even were you to reach the East Gate, wizard, surely you can’t expect the orc-kind to have left one Gate unguarded.” 

“I say we meet the orc at the gates of _our_ lands,” Dáin said hotly, “Kill this Azog and salt the land with the blood of the orc. And _after_ that, we-ell, if there’s some secret of sorts in Khazad-dûm, we can take our time searching it out, and the Wizard be welcome to it.”

“Our grudge, first and foremost, is to take our blood-debt from Azog,” Thráin glared at the map. “Not recover Khazad-dûm. If this Azog is willing to meet us on ground that suits us, so much the better.” 

Gandalf sighed, and tugged the brim of his hat lower over his eyes. “It is an ill day when the word of one the Maiar carries so little weight, Thráin son of Thrór. Your people are beginning to fade from these lands. I hoped to prevent _that_ from hastening.”

“And I thank you for your _counsel_ , Gandalf,” Thráin grit out, “But I cannot see the strategic _benefit_ of wasting my time fortifying a place to withstand a siege, all the while sending one of my best scouts to his death.”

Bella.

Bella looked up in surprise in Yavanna’s Garden as Paladin stepped in, accompanied by _Gandalf_ , of all people. “Gandalf!” she cried excitedly, her voice already swallowed in the shout that bloomed up from all the hobbits about, as they clustered joyfully about Gandalf’s robes, whooping and cheering. For the Maiar had been friends of Yavanna’s Children since the beginning, and they, at least, were always welcome to the Garden.

Gandalf’s expression was solemn, at first, but even he had to smile, shaking hands, patting backs, asking after those who had remained in the Garden at Ered Luin, until eventually it was Paladin who tugged at Gandalf’s robes and shot him a meaningful look.

“Ah, ah yes,” Gandalf sighed, and settled himself down on a tree root. “Sadly I am here on business, dear friends. And an ill business it is too. I fear that there is something buried within Khazad-dûm that keeps even the orcs desperate to stay where they are.”

“You speak of Durin’s Bane,” Bella said, then blushed as Gandalf looked sharply towards her. “I’ve read of it in my mother’s books.”

“Ah, the daughter of Belladonna Took!” Gandalf said, after a moment’s pause, with a wry smile. “I was very fond of your mother.”

“So she’s said,” Bella said, perhaps with too pert a smile, for there was a murmur amongst the Sackville-Bagginses, and Gandalf laughed. 

“Aye, Durin’s Bane. Over five hundred years ago, _something_ awoke in the depths of Moria and slew the Dwarf-King Durin the Sixth, driving the survivors out of their holdings.”

“Five hundred years!” Hamfast piped up, astonished. “Nothing lasts five hundred _years_.”

“‘Cept the elves,” Lily murmured. 

“Maybe a dragon or two,” Drogo piped in, and shuddered. “Oh! What if it _is_ a dragon?”

“Dragons won’t rest easy with all them orcs clanking about and screaming and shouting,” Lobelia said irritably, with a glare at Drogo. “Use your brain, Drogo Baggins.”

“But it could be _something_ like a dragon,” Bella said loyally, scowling at Lobelia in turn.

“ _Whatever it is_ ,” Gandalf cut in, “I want to find out. _Before_ the battle, if I can.” 

“But all the orcs are _outside_ Moria,” the Old Gaffer said thoughtfully. “And whatever it is they might be afraid of is _inside_ Moria. S’long as we deal with the orcs out here… why worry what’s in there?”

“If all our banging about up here don’t _wake_ whatever’s in there,” Bella suggested grimly, and this got a shudder through the other hobbits, particularly those who had been old enough to still be about, when the Calamity had come for Erebor, and driven the dwarves and hobbits out, Blessed or no. The firedrake Smaug had been too vast, too terrible, even for Yavanna’s magic; it had slain dwarves and hobbits alike, even those that had sought to hide in the Garden.

“Fell beasts forged by Morgoth… like the wargs, like the dragons and more,” Gandalf said grimly, “Those, even your people have cause to fear. Their teeth and their flame rend not just the Prime, but also the Garden. And whatever’s in Moria is likely bred of the same foul stuff.” He sighed. “Why in the world did all of you agree to this blasted enterprise?” 

The hobbits blinked, taken aback by Gandalf’s temper, and the Old Gaffer, eventually, said, “Ah, Gandalf… it is a great friendship that we bear the dwarves, and we can scarce let them go to war without us, can we? Still, I s’pose there’s something to what you’ve said, and maybe I could have a word with the King.” 

“The dwarves are stubborn folk,” Gandalf said grumpily, “And they are not willing to see reason. I’ve already _had_ a word with the King.”

“But…” Bella began, then she thought about it a little more. “Sneak through the mountain range and to the other side? Get into the other Gate?” Why, it sounded just like one of her _mother’s_ sort of adventures, bless her late soul. A curl of excitement unfurled within Bella, and she tried to bite down a grin. “Sounds doable.”

“What about everyone else?” the Old Gaffer objected. 

“Fall back to the Gianduin outpost,” Gandalf suggested. “Reinforce and hold it until my return.” 

“But, ah, begging your pardon,” Old Nettle, the leader of the Iron Hills hobbits, said doubtfully, “What if, um, there’s a problem, and, uh-“

“Or at least,” Gandalf added, “Give me a month and a half. Forty days.”

“We’ve got enough supplies for that,” Lobelia said, to Bella’s surprise, and she glowered at Bella’s startled look. “I, for one, would prefer to respect the Wizard’s opinion.” 

“Hum!” the Old Gaffer frowned. “I s’pose we could take a vote. But d’you really want to go across the mountains alone, Gandalf?”

“I was hoping to take some of the Blessed with me. Whoever’s willing.” There was an instant clamour of excitement, and Gandalf chuckled. “Dear me! Your Anchors have to agree as well, remember. Well, have your vote. Then you’ll have to change the King’s mind.” 

The vote went as Bella expected, and most of the hobbits instantly stepped out of the Garden, no doubt to lean heavily on their Anchors. Bella waited until the Garden was mostly empty, then she sat next to Gandalf on the tree root. 

“Gandalf,” Bella said softly. “I want to go.”

“And the daughter of Belladonna Took would be welcome - if your Anchor’s willing,” Gandalf said, patting himself absently, as though to find his pipe, then he seemed to remember where he was, and stopped. There was no fire in the Garden. 

“But I, ah. I’ve got a problem,” Bella blurted out. “My Anchor and I. The binding’s not… not manifesting.”

“Oh?” Gandalf looked mildly surprised, for a moment. “Well, that’s not _too_ unusual.”

“So it won’t work at all?” Bella asked, depressed. 

“Hum! No, no. In your case? I should think it quite strange if it doesn’t. But perhaps it’ll work itself out along the way.”

“So you don’t mind?” Bella looked hopeful. 

“Of course not,” Gandalf said, amused. “It’s not just power that I’m looking for, Bella - though you do have that to spare, in your own way. It’s courage, too, and for that, where your family is concerned, I’ve never found it wanting.”

Bofur.

Bofur was bemused when the encampment erupted into uproar with the arrival of the Wizard - and whatever he had said to the hobbits. But in the face of _all_ the hobbits siding with the Wizard, King Thráin had no choice but to acquiesce, if with ill grace, for going to battle _without_ the Blessed would be disastrous.

“We’re going,” Bella told Bofur firmly, in a flurry of packing, though she hesitated as she picked up the teapot. “If you don’t mind.”

“Well, I don’t see why not,” Bofur said, puzzled, “Since you hobbits think it’s a great big deal, I s’pose it has to be.” 

Bella grinned at him, and swept over to hug him tightly, to Bofur’s surprise, and it was ill luck that it was at that moment that Thorin let himself into the tent. The Prince’s grave face turned carefully blank as he watched Bella pull away from Bofur, and there was a long, awkward silence for a moment before Bofur cleared his throat.

“Ah, I’ll, uh, pack,” he said, going back to sorting supplies into packs, whatever might be needed for a journey through the mountain ranges and back. 

“You’re going with Gandalf.” Thorin said, more of an observation than a question, and Bella lifted her chin defiantly.

“I am.”

“But I’ve heard that your binding-“

“What of it?” Bella asked sharply, and Thorin frowned at her.

“It’ll be a dangerous journey as it is.”

“We’ll be fine. Gandalf will be there, and Nori, and so’s Dwalin, I heard, and Balin, and Glóin. Bifur, too.”

“Dáin is going,” Thorin said quietly. “As am I.”

“You?” Bella asked, genuinely surprised. “But you don’t have a…” She hesitated, nibbling on her lower lip.

“Neither does Dáin. Our fathers decided that since Gandalf and the hobbits believe this expedition to be so very important, that they might as well send their heirs along.”

“That,” Bella said slowly, “Makes no sense whatsoever.”

“It does to a dwarf,” Bofur piped up, then ducked his head and returned to packing again when Bella and Thorin glanced at him. “Sorry.”

“I was hoping that you would stay,” Thorin said softly, impulsively stepping over to clasp one of Bella’s hands between both of his larger palms. “But I’m glad that you are going. If you are.”

“Thorin…” Bella began, then she shuddered and pulled her hand away. “How did Frerin take it?” 

Thorin looked a little frustrated at the unashamed change of topic. “He didn’t like being left behind, of course.” 

“As long as you make sure that he doesn’t try sneaking along. Like he usually does.”

“My father’s watching him very closely.” Thorin said dryly. 

“Like that’s worked before.”

“It will this time.” Thorin inclined his head to Bella, then to Bofur. “I’ll see you both in the morning, then,” he said quietly, and ducked out of the tent.

“It makes sense to a _dwarf_?” Bella demanded, once Thorin was gone.

“Oh, we’ve got a very hands-on sort of royalty,” Bofur shrugged. “First one into the breach, and all that. Seems about right to me.”

Bella muttered something rude under her breath.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Everyone’s ages are a little messed up in this fic, because the hobbit and dwarf lifespans are more or less the same and some other people’s ages need to be refitted for the purposes of fic. Basically: 
> 
> Oldest—  
> Old Gaffer  
> Old Nettle  
> Thráin  
> Náin  
> Balin  
> Thorin  
> Bella  
> Lobelia  
> Drogo  
> Frerin  
> Dís  
> —Post-Calamity births-  
> Dwalin  
> Glóin  
> Nori  
> Primula  
> Bofur  
> Paladin  
> Esmeralda  
> Dáin  
> Youngest—

Paladin

Balin wasn’t allowed to go after all, to the Chancellor’s open annoyance: not because Balin wasn’t fit for the journey, but because the Old Gaffer was starting to get on in years, and was too old to ride for long stretches of time, let alone clamber around mountain ranges.

“You’ll do fine bolstering the forces here,” Gandalf said comfortingly, as the old hobbit puffed away at his baccy pipe and sulked, his Anchor alternating between fussing about Gandalf and checking on his younger brother Dwalin’s gear. “The King’s going to need his senior advisors here with him, after all. We can’t be taking _everyone_ with experience along: why, who’ll take care of business on this side of the mountains?”

This last seemed to smooth down the Old Gaffer’s ruffled pride, and the Gaffer even puttered around chatting with King Thráin, who still looked sour about it all, watching the Company gather up with his arms folded over his prodigious beard. They made a rather ragged Company of adventurers, Paladin decided critically: he and Nori were seasoned travellers, of course, but Bella was fussing about with her packs on her pony, her Anchor Bofur looking bemused about all the attention and a little lost. Huddled close to him was Bifur, looking equally hunted, with Paladin’s own sister Esmeralda Took, so excited that she was all but bouncing up and down on her feet. 

Drogo Baggins was yawning some distance from Dwalin, sleepily talking to Primula Brandybuck, whose Anchor Glóin was scratching at his beard, eyeing the patrols at the perimeter of the encampment. Gandalf sat on a crate, still puffing on his pipe, while the princes stood in a hushed group with young Lord Dáin, arguing in heated whispers with each other and occasionally gesturing towards the encampment.

Thráin finally started with a speech, formal and self-important like most kingly speeches, and Paladin tuned him out, fidgeting and staring at the sky until Gandalf got up from his crate and shook hands solemnly with the King, then Lord Náin, and they mounted up and set off briskly out through the encampment, even as behind them, the dwarves began an orderly and efficient decamping. Behind them, Frerin watched them go, scowling beside his father and uncle, and Paladin nudged his pony into a trot, following Nori to the head of the line, where Gandalf’s horse was trailing the two young dwarf lords.

“We could scout ahead,” Nori offered, glancing awkwardly between Gandalf, Dáin and Thorin for a moment before clearly deciding to settle on the son of his King, addressing Thorin as he continued, “We’ll be faster than the ponies, and can report back.” 

“Not yet,” Gandalf decided. “I want to get clear of the wargs first. If you use your binding so close to the packs, they might find us. We can’t have Azog getting wind of what we’re planning on doing.”

“They can see us in the Garden?” Primula asked worriedly.

“Not the Garden. But the halfway world that Paladin brings Nori into, when they use their binding? They have a sense for that.” 

“Just like the dragon did,” Thorin murmured, and exchanged a glance over his shoulder with Bella, who frowned, troubled. 

Paladin shivered. A great many hobbits had died to Smaug in Erebor, with their Anchors, at first trying to defend the city against Smaug, and then finally, trying to buy time for the refugees to evacuate. For they had not anticipated the reach of dragonfire, that could sear the Prime and the Garden alike; and even Bella’s legendary mother had been slain, along with her mate and their Anchors. For the survivors, even those whom had fled very young, like Bella, the scars still ran deep.

“Just so,” Gandalf said grimly. “There’s an old pass further north that the Rangers use, which we should be able to traverse to get to where we need to. But I’ll like to reach it by nightfall, if we can.” 

This turned out to be an entirely too generous estimation, with the pass nowhere near about by the time the Company had to make camp at nightfall, on the top of a forested ridge that could hopefully be unnoticed - or at worst, defensible - from any roving warg packs. The ponies were unsettled and had to be hobbled, poor beasts, and Paladin tried soothing his Appleseed with a smuggled handful of oats, even as Bella brushed down her fractious Myrtle.

“We’re going blind,” Paladin murmured to Bella, for Gandalf hadn’t allowed Nori and Paladin to scout all day. “I don’t like it.”

“Gandalf’s confident.” 

“Sure he’s confident,” Paladin said sourly, though he was careful to keep his voice soft, and even glanced quickly in the direction of the Wizard, who was smoking on the edge of the outcrop with Thorin. “He’ll live forever. He’s a _Wizard_.”

“And he won’t put us in danger,” Bella pointed out, then hesitated and corrected, “Unnecessary danger, that is. Er. Probably.” 

For although Gandalf was well-loved by Yavanna’s Children, he had also quite the reputation as a troublemaker, and was forever luring hobbits, Anchored or not, off on adventures: particularly those with Tookish blood.

“Well, whatever it is,” Paladin muttered, “Nori and I are going to go scouting.”

“Is that a good idea?” Bella asked worriedly. “Gandalf said not to. And besides, we’re safe up here.”

“We _seem_ safe up here. We can’t make camp without knowing what’s around us,” Paladin said reasonably. “Keeping watch is only half of it. We’ll be _fine_ ,” Paladin assured Bella, when she bit at her lower lip. “We made it to the orc lines and back many times before, didn’t we?”

“I suppose so,” Bella said doubtfully. “But I don’t like it. Maybe I should come too.”

“No. Nori and I work best together. Just stay with the camp. We’ll be back soon, no one the wiser.” 

Bella’s worried stare followed Paladin all the way down the ridge to where Nori was waiting in the shadow of a smaller outcrop, studying the darkening horizon. “Took your time,” Nori murmured, as Paladin stepped into the Garden and allowed Nori to be pulled into the halfway world, their binding linking them together with a faint pull on his consciousness. The Garden was still a thick primeval forest, even here, but with Nori in the halfway world, the eternal twilight was dimmed, superimposed with the shadow-world, all in gray, with a few bright outlines above, from the other hobbits. 

“Talked to Bella,” Paladin admitted, as Nori darted silently away, to scout a circuit around their camp. 

“Not a great idea.”

“If I didn’t tell her, or Prim, they’ll sense me going away and make a fuss. And Bella’s more reasonable than Prim.”

Nori snorted, even as he slipped briefly out of the halfway world to study a set of tracks. It was old, the grass already rising back up from where it was trampled, though from the shape and the carelessness of it all, Paladin suspected orcs. “Orc patrol,” Nori murmured in confirmation. “Two days’ old, at the least.”

“Aye.”

They slipped into the halfway world again, following the trail for a while until it seemed obvious that the patrol was headed towards Moria, then Nori veered back into his circuit. “Your womenfolk seem to be more powerful than the menfolk.”

“Hm?” Paladin blinked in surprise. “I haven’t seen… ah, I suppose so, in a way. Bella’s mum was the most powerful hobbit in her generation. In ours, it’s probably between Bella and Prim.”

“Glóin’s a right terror with that axe of his when he’s using the binding. I’ve seen him go toe to toe with a cave troll and not take a scratch.”

“ _We’ve_ gone toe to toe with a cave troll.”

“In our way,” Nori allowed, though he smirked. “Not head on.”

“Head on, pfft,” Paladin made a dismissive gesture. “How pedestrian.”

“Still. Bella and Prim, eh?” Nori faded out of the halfway world again, but the track he studied was too scuffed to be obvious, and he faded back in. “Prim didn’t have any trouble with Glóin, I recall.” 

“Nope. It’s pretty obvious what he is.” 

Nori grunted. “There you go again.”

“There I what?”

“Judging people.” Nori faded out, palm pressed against a savaged tree. Something had scratched it roughly, and there was still a faint, pungent scent of animal piss. “Huh. Warg passed this way.”

“Two days back, I think.” Paladin wrinkled his nose. With the binding active, he was sharing Nori’s senses.

“Bella wouldn’t have done well, bound to a warrior-type,” Nori said, as he faded back into the halfway world. “You know that.”

“Do I? Do _you_?”

“Think about it, if you call yourself a friend of hers,” Nori retorted sharply, and rather hurt, Paladin kept an injured silence through the rest of their circuit, even when they returned to the base of their camp. Before they went up the slope, Nori frowned at him, binding released, both of them full in the Prime. “Paladin.”

“I know.” Paladin said grumpily. “Fine. I guess I wish we _could_ have another Prim-and-Glóin duo.”

“Do you?” Nori arched an eyebrow. “I don’t. I like her just as _she_ is.”

Thorin.

They made camp again when they had reached the ranger’s pass, a hidden gap in the sheer cliff face that was barely wide enough to fit a pony, and the poor beasts were uncomfortable and restive and had to be guided by hand to a warren of natural caves, where a larger chamber had clearly been marked out for horses, fenced in with rocks and old logs.

Gandalf sat at the entrance, watching the sky and smoking, and Thorin decided that he’d done quite enough keeping the Wizard company, and left Dáin to it. Most of the others were preparing to bed down for the night, and Thorin looked around until he saw Bofur and Bella, sneaking off quietly into one of the caves out back.

Jealousy burned hot within him for a moment until Thorin let out a harsh breath, then he strode after them, ignoring Primula’s hailed greeting and Dwalin’s worried glance. He was careful of where to step when he got closer: Bella had always been able to tell where Thorin was, even when they were children, unless her attention was otherwise fully occupied - and he’d never been able to quite figure out why. 

“… it’s still a rock,” Bofur said doubtfully, his voice echoing dully through the corridor, and Thorin grit his teeth again. Logically, he knew that Bofur, for all his low birth, was a good dwarf, and an honourable one at that, even with his love of ridiculous songs and antics, but he was clearly not worthy of Bella and-

Bella sighed, the first sign of exasperation that Thorin had ever heard her express before Bofur. “Oh, well, we’ve tried earth-bindings, we’ve tried stone-sense, we’ve even tried _music_ and healing and _nothing_. So it’s got to be something to do with your mining.”

“Bella,” Bofur said gently, with his ever-present patience. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry! Just keep _trying_.”

“You’ve spoken to the Wizard?”

“Oh yes, Gandalf,” Bella said grumpily. “He said it’s unusual for a binding from me not to manifest.”

Not to manifest. So the rumours were true. Thorin smiled savagely in the dark. “Maybe it’s not you,” Bofur continued patiently. “Maybe it’s me.” 

Of course it was Bofur. “No,” Bella said unhappily. “I think it might be me after all. Bofur, you’re a great friend and I will cherish you always. But if the war had not come, and if Thorin hadn’t talked me into joining the muster, I would not have chosen anyone.” 

Thorin closed his eyes, taking in a soft breath. He hadn’t expected such an answer, and it _hurt_. Not to have chosen- “Really?” Bofur asked wryly. “Not even the Prince?”

“What Prince?” Thorin could hear the scowl in Bella’s voice, but Bofur was unfazed.

“You grew up with Thorin. Until the muster was called, the two of you were the best of friends. Everyone knew that.” 

“No hobbit can bind themselves to the line of Durin. It’s not a matter of politics.” Bella exhaled loudly. “Never you mind, Bofur. Let’s try again.” 

Thorin was about to settle down to wait, but then he flinched violently instead as Primula said, loudly, “Well there you are, Prince Thorin! Dáin’s asking after you.” 

Primula smirked at him when Thorin glared at her, and in the edge of his vision he could see Drogo peering in worriedly. “By your leave then, Primula,” Thorin said flatly, and stalked off to the mouth of the cave in a foul mood. Dáin stared at him with mild surprise as Thorin settled down on a rock with his arms folded, though Gandalf glanced at him with a Wizard’s sly amusement, continuing to smoke.

“Best we keep a tight watch tonight,” Dáin said, when Thorin kept up a grim silence. “Gandalf said there’s an ill wind about.” 

“Of course we’ll keep watch,” Thorin said irritably, and his cousin blinked at him, a little hurt by his sharp tone. “I’ll take the first watch,” Thorin added, in a gentler voice, and stared hard at the darkening stone beyond, even when Dáin and Gandalf turned in to sleep. 

A scuff of stone behind him made him glance up, then nearly startle to his feet when he saw that it was Bella. She raised an eyebrow at him as she sat down beside him on the rock, and as always, this close, Bella smelled of the summer twilight, of the Garden and its wild grass and earth. “You shouldn’t keep spying on people,” Bella murmured, though she sounded wry rather than annoyed.

“I was…”

“Jealous?”

Thorin scowled. “ _Concerned_ ,” he said stiffly. When Bella snorted, Thorin added, in a low voice, “If your binding with Bofur doesn’t work, then maybe…“

“Maybe I should choose Dáin?” Bella asked offhandedly. “Nice chap. Little brash, and very young, but he obviously has only one love in his life and it involves that warhammer of his.”

Thorin choked and started coughing, and Bella giggled at him, the way she always did, back when they were children, and Bella had run wild with Frerin and Dís, forever heavy-handed with their pranks. “Do not tease me on this,” Thorin said finally, flatly. “Not when you know that I-“

“There’s no need to take this so seriously,” Bella cut in quickly, kicking up her furred feet, then she sighed, and twitched her nose, and it was like being entranced all over again, by Bella’s tiny, elegant fingers, by the slim line of her neck under her slightly rumpled collar, the shadow of her bound breasts under her travelling coat. “Thorin?”

He blinked. “What?”

Bella waved a hand before his eyes, and Thorin frowned and batted at her palm. “As I was _saying_ ,” Bella said dryly, “Gandalf said that it was _fine_ if the binding took its time to manifest.”

“If it does.” Thorin said quietly, and Bella glowered at him for a moment before jerking her gaze away. 

“Hobbits and dwarves don’t… _mix_ , Thorin. Not like this,” Bella murmured. “And you will be King.”

“Frerin can be King.”

“I can’t begin to describe to you what a disaster _that_ would be.” 

“Frerin’s not that bad,” Thorin said defensively, for what felt like the hundredth time this year. “Bella-“

“The dwarven kingship doesn’t just affect Ered Luin, Thorin. Remember? It affects _all_ the dwarves. And in so doing, _all_ the hobbits as well.” 

“And I would give that up.”

“I don’t want you to,” Bella shot back. “You were born into a life that’s hand-in-hand with a responsibility that’s bigger than what _you_ want, Thorin.” 

“Even if I do become King,” Thorin retorted, “I will take no wife.” 

“Thorin-“

“For it is not fair,” Thorin forced himself to gentle his voice, as he reached over to pick up Bella’s right palm, “To wed another, when I have no more love to give.” 

Bella stared at her hand, tiny and delicate against Thorin’s palms, and sighed out aloud, nibbling on her lower lip. “Blast you dwarves and your ways,” Bella said finally, and there was defeat there, and defiance too, for it had never been in Bella’s nature to give in to anything, even as she allowed Thorin to lift her palm to his lips, to brush a kiss over the soft skin of her wrist, then up, to her knuckles. 

Eventually, Bella pulled her hand away, folding it in her lap, and but for the others asleep behind them, Thorin would have tried for more, to pull Bella close to him, into his lap, to finally taste the sweet plushness of her lips… It was an unsteady breath that he drew into him instead, as he kept watch.

“None of the… hobbits I know are engaged in… relations with their Anchors,” Thorin murmured finally.

“Oh? You’ve finally noticed?” Bella teased. 

“Why is that?”

“… I can’t explain it,” Bella said finally, after she thought it over for a while. “But it’s the same reason why you don’t see many hobbits matched to dwarves if at all, I suppose. Thorin,” Bella added gently, as he stiffened, “I am… very… fond of you, and… but…” She sighed, and stared at her hands. “You’re a creature of the Prime. While I, like all my kin, are of the Garden, and to us, even now, the Prime is still an alien place. It is not our home.”

“I don’t understand,” Thorin said gruffly, unable to hide the hurt in his tone even if he tried. “Is my suit unwelcome?”

“I wish it were,” Bella offered him a wry smile. “All this would be simpler if it was so.”


	5. Chapter 5

Primula.

The path was slow going, for it was steep and treacherous and the ponies had to be led carefully, not ridden. At the front of the line, for all that the Wizard seemed old and frail, Gandalf forged on ahead with an energy that was as fierce as the best of them, and his confidence made Primula feel better about the whole enterprise.

“Wish we had time for second breakfast,” Esme Took muttered behind her, and Primula grinned. Like the other hobbits, she was dressed for the road, for comfort and warmth, but she did miss her skirts, and her dainties and comforts, so far away now in Ered Luin. 

“Hush now,” Bella called from farther back, “It’s just as well, or you’ll grow too heavy and wide to ride a binding!”

“ _Bella!_ ” Esme objected, though she collapsed into giggles when Bella made a rude sound. Primula chuckled, and tried again not to look up about her; the ravine that they were navigated was sandwiched between two sheer rock cliffs, and it felt like the world was pressing in around them, sunlight a gray fork high above their heads. 

“What d’you think we’re going to find in Moria?” Primula asked out aloud, to keep her mind off it. 

“Hopefully a bloody empty mine,” Bella muttered. “And hopefully, whatever’s making the orc act so strange is nothing more than… flooding in the lower levels, or whatever it might be. Something _natural_ would be nice.”

“Wizards don’t show up for natural things,” Esme said, then stifled a cough of embarrassment. “That is to say, uh, not where they’re needed or need a King to do things and-“

“No, you’re right,” Primula cut in soothingly, for this had worried her all along, since Bella had first told her that Bella was coming along with Gandalf’s Company, her, Paladin, and Esme too: matters that a Wizard thought important enough to interfere with were oft rather too _large_ for smallfolk to manage.

“‘Leastways we’ve got you both,” Esme said loyally, “You and Bella.” 

There was only a glum silence behind Primula, but Primula still tried to say, cheerfully, “Of course. Besides, Gandalf just wants to have a look, that’s all. If it’s anything really _dangerous_ we’ll just leave, and tell the old King, and then… he and the Wizard will think of something, I’m sure.”

“I don’t-“ Bella began, then she hissed. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Primula looked around sharply, but all she could see was Drogo’s pony, in front of her, her pony, and the sheer walls. Scowling, she said, “Bella, that’s not _funny_.”

“I wasn’t being funny.” 

Primula narrowed her eyes, looking about, but Gandalf had forbidden them from stepping into the Garden, at least until they were out of the fissure, and in the Prime, her senses were deadened. “I don’t see anything.” 

“What?” Esme asked worriedly. “What?”

Bella mumbled something under her breath but said nothing more, and Primula tried not to startle at every faint sound as they trudged into a raised ridge to break for lunch. Once the ponies were hobbled, she took Bella by the elbow, ignoring the curious glance that their Anchors shot them, and hustled her to the edge of the camp. “You’re worried.” 

Bella glowered at her, then peered over at Primula’s shoulder pointedly as Esme edged into the huddle. “All right, fine,” Bella whispered. “Paladin and Nori. They’ve been going scouting.”

“They have?” Esme squeaked, then clamped her hands over her mouth when Primula and Bella glared at her.

“Well,” Primula said doubtfully, “I know that the Wizard said not to do it, or walk into the Garden, but surely there’s no harm. Paladin and Nori are old hands at scouting about.”

“The thing is…” Bella began, then looked around again, then exhaled loudly. “All right. I think we’re being followed. I feel it in my bones.” 

Primula narrowed her eyes, even as Esme risked a glance up at the lip of the cliff edge high above. Bella’s instincts were not something to be safely ignored. “Do you want me to talk to Paladin?” Primula asked finally.

“No! No. He’ll just want to take a look, and then…” Bella picked at her sleeve, frowning. “I don’t want to get him into trouble needlessly, either. You know what they’re like. Nori and Paladin are young for this muster, and they’re still proving themselves, and-“

“No one said anything about turning them in,” Primula interrupted, chewing absently on her lower lip. “I think we should keep this within ourselves for now.”

“But keep a look out?” Esme asked worriedly. 

“Keep a look out,” Bella agreed. “And stay close to your Anchors.”

“About that,” Esme began, and frowned when Primula shushed her. “What? I was just going to ask, friendly-like. Bifur _is_ Bofur’s cousin. He’s worried.”

“Worried about what?” Bella demanded, though she kept her voice down, and Esme flinched. 

“Well,” Esme mumbled, “It’s just, well, if, uh, there’s a _problem_ as such, well, Bofur’s not um, a warrior, you see, and Bifur’s concerned about his safety and um.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Primula said firmly, even though her own Anchor had raised a similar concern just the night before.

Instead of snapping a similar retort, Bella only let out a sigh, and stared at her toes. “Blast!” Bella said finally, sticking her fingers into her pockets. “I’m afraid too. I _know_ Bofur’s no warrior. And-“

“So what?” Primula interrupted. “D’you think that the muster’s all made out of warriors? A fair number of the infantry are made up of _volunteers_. It’s not just the prerogative of the _military_ to answer a call from their King.” 

“But he wouldn’t have been here,” Bella said glumly, “If it wasn’t for me. Let alone dragged along on this… this to-do!” 

“Are you sure about that?” Primula countered, and Bella blinked at her for a moment before she stared back down at her toes. “Ask him,” Primula added gently. 

“I didn’t mean to say it wasn’t going to work,” Esme mumbled. “I was just checking, that’s all.” 

“That’s fine,” Bella patted Esme on the arm comfortingly. “I’m just a little bit sore over all this, that’s all. I’m sorry of I’ve been sharp.”

“But about this bad feeling you have,” Esme added, glancing back up at the ridge again. “I really think I should have a quiet word with Paladin.”

“Not yet.” Bella decided. “I’ve got another idea.”

Bella.

“So…” Bofur pulled at his moustache, “You want to… sneak out of the camp tonight, with Primula, and take a… look about?”

“That’s right,” Bella agreed. They’d set up camp in another dusty old Ranger cave, the paddock for steeds little more than piled lumps of rock. The dwarves had all stared for a long moment, then muttered something about ‘Man’ and ‘workmanship from the short-lived’ and had set about tidying: now the cave was far more habitable than it had ever been, Bella suspected.

“… and,” Bofur added carefully, “Y’don’t want me to worry about it.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, I’m ‘fraid, Mistress Baggins, that I _am_ going to worry about it,” Bofur said slowly, “Especially since, it seems t’me, that this is precisely the sort of goings on that might’ve made trouble in the first place.” 

“We’ll be careful,” Bella said reassuringly, but Bofur merely sighed, and started tugging at the other end of his moustache. “Hobbits can be very quiet and-“

“And Paladin and Nori were no doubt sneakin’ about in the halfway world, and maybe they still got found out-“

“ _And_ we won’t be in the halfway world, or in the Garden.”

“… _all right_ ,” Bofur blinked, “That does not in any way make me feel better about it, neither.”

Bella rubbed a hand over her face. Primula had opted not to tell her own Anchor about their proposed night time excursion, but Bella hadn’t felt quite right about making excuses to Bofur. Now she was regretting it. “Well, I’m still going,” Bella said firmly. “We’ll be back before you know it. No need to raise the camp.”

“And I’m not to come along?”

“You’re a dwarf. Stealth doesn’t come naturally to your folk. Usually,” Bella added, with a thought for Nori.

“So… I’m just to wait here and…?”

“Well,” Bella said grumpily, “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything to you at all, then.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Bofur said patiently. “Bella. This is not, I should think, the wisest idea you’ve had by any means-“

“But-“

“ _But_ ,” Bofur added, just as patiently, “If you’re right set on it, then do it. I’ll not be able to change your mind when you’ve set it,” he added wryly, when Bella looked surprised. “But that don’t mean that I’m not going to worry myself gray-haired while you’re out and about.” 

“Thanks,” Bella said, with a quick grin. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll believe that when you get back.”

“And,” Bella added, “We’ll only be off for a wee bit.”

“I’ll believe that _when_ you get back,” Bofur repeated, and sat down heavily on his pack, in their tent. “Go on then.”

“Try not to fuss,” Bella suggested, and Bofur let out a weary sigh even as Bella slipped out of the tent, trying not to feel too guilty about it. Drogo had taken the first watch, which meant that slipping out of the camp with Primula stealing away quietly by her side was easy enough.

They snuck down the ridge without a sound, retracing their steps back to a bluff where the rock had been weathered into a series of narrow steps, impossible for a Man to climb but not too hard for a pair of determined hobbits. Heavily cowled, Bella grit her teeth at the sting of the icy cold stone under her toes as she pulled herself up, trying not to look down, steadying her breath as she climbed, up and up until her hand felt up onto a flat surface.

Primula was already up, looking sharply about. The plateau above the Ranger’s passage was an uneven plane of snow-covered rock, rising abruptly at its other edge to a steep, rocky slope. Around them, the mountain range stretched like a vast and winding spine, snow-capped and forbidding, especially to two very cold and little hobbits. 

“Look,” Primula whispered, pointing, and Bella had to look about for a moment before she finally spotted what Primula was trying to show her. In the distance, nearly out of sight where the mountain edged into the crevasse of the Ranger’s passage, was a faint gleam of light, set high up in the mouth of what was possibly a cave or a hollow.

“Could be Paladin and Nori,” Bella murmured doubtfully.

“They wouldn’t linger. Besides, we got Esme to make sure that Paladin wouldn’t be heading out tonight, remember?”

“Shouldn’t we turn back?”

“Not until I’m sure that it’s nothing to be worried about.” Primula said firmly. “You can turn back if you want.”

Bella scowled. Damn Brandybucks and their love of mischief! “If you’re not turning back, neither am I.” 

“Well, come along then,” Primula shot her a quick grin. “Oh, don’t be so sour about it, Bella Baggins. That cave isn’t big enough for a warg. Whatever it is might’ve been there for a while. I don’t see any tracks on this snow.” 

“Could be goblins. The bit of snow we got just a couple of hours back would’ve done enough to hide it,” Bella said glumly, though she trudged behind Primula as her friend started to push through the knee-high snow. 

“Could be just a… gleam off some mineral or something,” Primula retorted. “Imagine how everyone’ll laugh if that were so! ‘Sides,” Primula added comfortingly, “If it was anything really odd, I’ll just scream. The whole mountain’ll hear us, nevermind the camp.”

“Might be too late for _us_ by then,” Bella groused, but she pressed on, her heart pounding, her breath shallow within her. 

Adventure at last. She kept her hands loose by her sides, rather than stealing down to the dwarf-forged dagger that Nori had handed her when she had told him that she was volunteering for the muster. Until now, Bella hadn’t thought to wear the damned thing. She much preferred gifts like Bofur’s, the small little puzzles and toys that he liked to whittle whenever he had a pocket of time to himself. 

It felt like an age by the time Bella and Primula finally sorted their way carefully through the snow, wary of crevasses, to the base of the rising cliff face. The way up to the cave was through a steep slope of a ledge, too narrow for a full-grown orc to traverse. Encouraged, Bella pulled herself up onto it after Primula, though she kept her hand on the hilt of her dagger as Primula crept up the slope, her breaths whispering out in puffs as she crouched against the cliff face.

Primula held up a hand when they were close to the cave, and Bella closed her eyes, concentrating, sorting out the sounds, trying to override her own excited tension. There was _something_ in the cave, certainly: she could hear a scuffing sound, and even a snuffle.

Primula gestured, indicating that they go in, and Bella’s eyes widened. She shook her head, and Primula rolled her eyes, holding up one finger. _Only one thing in the cave_. Bella tried to mime a bear, and Primula shook her head again - just as whatever it was in the cave startled to whistle.

Bella knew that sound.

Pushing past Primula, who stifled a yelp, Bella marched into the cave, bristling with irritation. Just within, sitting on a rock beside his pack, next to a small fire, Frerin looked up in shock even as Bella stamped right up to him and hissed, “ _Frerin son of Thráin_ , you are in _so_ much trouble!” 

“I didn’t want to be left behind,” Frerin protested, once he got over his surprise. “How did you find me? I was so careful!” 

Behind Bella, Primula groaned. “Oh, for the love of Yavanna.”

“Turn back,” Bella growled. “Right this instant!”

“I’m not,” Frerin said stubbornly. “It’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair,” Bella said severely. “Your father’s probably terribly worried right now!”

“He wouldn’t be, I left him a note.”

“A _note_? You sons of Durin-“ 

A mournful howl cut Bella off, and she stiffened up, even as Primula whirled about to face the cave entrance. The sound seemed distant, and far off, but even as Bella took in a slow breath, it was joined by another, then another, as well as the faint echo of a grunting, barking snarl, so deep-throated that it could not have come from a normal wolf.

“Blast.” Bella narrowed her eyes, even as Frerin straightened up from his back, his hands going to the heft of his axes.

“Wargs,” Primula agreed, and started for the mouth of the cave, even as Bella grabbed her wrist. 

“Wait! We can’t just rush out-“

“Glóin’s back in the camp!” 

“And we _will_ head back,” Bella agreed flatly, “But we’ll be careful about it. As to you,” Bella added irritably, with a glance at Frerin, “I suppose you’ll be coming along with us for now.” 

“I _am_ a Prince, you know,” Frerin said, though he grinned as he said it, and shouldered his pack. 

They made their way hastily down from the cave, into the deep snow, slow going again even with Frerin taking point. The howls echoed back and forth, as though coming from everywhere, yet Bella could see no wargs, or anything but the endless rock and snow. Her feet felt frozen and she felt small and all too exposed against the snow, starting to sweat under her jacket and vests and cloak, but it was exhilaration that burned within her, anticipation and a fierce sort of wild joy, not fear. Quietly, Bella drew her dagger from its sheath, concentrating, waiting. 

Behind her, Primula let out a soft, startled sound, even as Frerin hesitated for a moment before waving. Peeking around him, Bella saw Thorin haul himself up onto the snowy rock surface, his face pale and drawn, then he froze in shock, no doubt as he recognised Frerin. Gesturing urgently, Thorin kept sneaking worried glances back towards the Ranger’s passage, even as Frerin forged closer, step by frozen step. 

They were but twelve feet away when a warg circled precariously around the narrow ledge that hugged the cliff face overlooking the winding Ranger’s passage, baring its teeth in a snarl as it spotted them. It let out a triumphant, barking sound, even as Thorin called urgently, “ _Run!_ ” and freed his own blade from its scabbard. 

“Run? There’s just one of them!” Frerin said in disdain, even as the warg growled and padded out onto the snow, and behind him, another warg padded into view, teeth bared. “Ah.”

“Frerin, shut your mouth,” Bella suggested, even as Frerin hastily picked up his pace, shoving on through the snow. The wargs stumbled and bounded awkwardly as they jumped into the snow drift, but with their bulk and weight, they’d be only a few jumps away from behind right on top of them.

Sensing this, Frerin dropped his pack, picking up a throwing axe instead. “Go, Bella. Prim.” 

“Are you crazy?” Prim demanded, even as Bella sniffed. “If you’re staying, so’re we.” 

Frerin laughed where his brother would have scowled, and threw the first axe. It went wide, ploughing into the snow, and the wargs snarled and snapped, bounding closer. The next axe sank high into the first warg’s shoulder, making it yip with pain and stumble, but the second warg was already too close, bounding up - then snarling as Thorin’s timed jump collided with it, knocking it out of its arc of descent and into a rolling, howling scrum in the snow.

“Thorin!” Bella stepped into the halfway world before she could even think. The snow was nothing to her here, not so close to the Garden that Prime space was a shadow rather than the world itself; she stepped _up_ onto the bank of snow, lunging forward, ignoring Primula’s dimmed shout of alarm behind her. The warg burned in a dark, sooty gray-and-orange in the halfway world, like the embers of a coal fire, and it glanced up sharply at her, leaving the gray dwarf-form of Thorin under it, baring its bright, sharp teeth. 

Bella could not hear it snarl in the halfway world, but as it leaped for her, she stepped _out_ and into the Prime, rolling as she did, her weight sinking her into the snow, harmlessly just out of reach as the warg lumbered out of its pounce above her, jaws snapping into the air, then it was choking and gurgling as she rammed her dagger up and into its throat.

Hot, black blood coated her fingers in a gout, sticky and horrible and stinking of copper, but Bella dragged her dagger to the side with all her might, and pushed herself back into the halfway world, scrambling back up onto the snow and away from the flailing creature, giving herself enough space as she stepped out of the halfway world again, just in range to put her weight behind the dagger as she sank it into the foundering warg’s skull. 

“Bella!” Primula called again urgently, and Bella blinked up from where she knelt before the still-warm carcass of the warg. Frerin had fared better with his last throwing axe - the second warg lay dead on the snow, and the prince trudged hastily towards her, checking her over with a glance for injuries, then stumbling over to his brother, who was already standing up from the snow. To Bella’s dismay, Thorin’s left arm was mauled, his padded shirt under his mail sleeve ripped to the wrist, gauntlet in ribbons, grimacing and bleeding. 

“Back to the camp,” Thorin said through gritted teeth, with a glare at Frerin that made his brother duck his gaze. Behind Thorin, Glóin was hauling himself up, letting out a sigh of relief as Primula hurried over, and beside him, Paladin stepped out of the halfway world, looking around with a blink of confusion that swept into dawning guilt. 

Before Paladin could speak, though, Bella set her foot against the dead warg and tugged her dagger free, wiping it against its fur. “There should be more out there.”

“And they’ll find these bodies soon enough,” Frerin agreed grimly. “Brother, I’m sorry-“ 

“Later,” Thorin said flatly. “Now _move_.”


	6. Chapter 6

Bofur.

“Bella! Oh, thank Mahal!” Bofur exclaimed, as Bella emerged from the edge of the cliff above. She shot him a wan smile as she made her way carefully down the hammered handholds that Prince Thorin had made on his hasty way up, and once she was on the ground, she hugged Bofur tightly, burying her face in his coat. “Are you hurt?”

“The blood’s not mine,” Bella said, muffled, and Bofur noted with a blink of horror that Bella was bloody to the elbows, a dank black blood soaking her gloves. As if to accentuate _what_ she had faced up above, there was another, if faint howl in the distance, and Bofur tightened his grip around Bella reflexively. 

The next one down was Primula, then her Anchor, and Gandalf muttered to himself and stared at the thick shadows westwards where they had come only hours ago and fussed about until everyone was safely below. Thorin was the only one injured, Bofur noted, wincing as Gandalf inspected his arm cursorily and nodding impatiently as the Wizard said, with relief, “Needs to be dressed. But it’s not major.”

“Thanks to Bella,” Thorin said, his tone neutral, without looking at Bofur, and uncomfortably, Bofur pulled away from Bella. It was a cold and tense group that made their way back to the camp, where Dáin, Esmeralda and Bifur had been left to watch the ponies, and Thorin was soon dragged away despite his protests by Gandalf to get his wounds treated.

“We’ll stay camped here,” Gandalf decided. “But be careful. Dwalin, it’s your turn to watch. Everyone else: be ready. The other wargs may not be far.”

“Should we move on, then?” Drogo asked tentatively.

“In the dark? While we’re all tired, and the ponies are terrified? We’ll risk breaking our necks,” Gandalf pointed out. “While this ridge is defensible and the shelf of rock above is too sheer for the wargs to come upon us. They’ll have to come one by one up the slope to us or not at all.” 

And that was that.

Bofur pulled Bella into their tent, instead, where he wordlessly melted a dish of snow over their stove for the gloves to soak, and another for her to get cleaned up. Then Bofur sat on his bedroll and dug out his pipe and filled it. He had made his second smoke ring by the time Bella dried out her hands and set a kettle to boil, sitting down beside him. 

They sat in silence, Bofur smoking, Bella staring at her hands. Sometimes, she would twitch her nose, her eyes distant, but Bofur said nothing. Nor did Bella, up until Bofur finished his pipe: when he started to clean it out, she murmured, “I killed a warg. I was lucky, though. And I didn’t like killing the beast.”

“Didn’t think you would be the sort.” That hadn’t been what Bofur had thought Bella would have opened with.

“Damn that Prince,” Bella sighed, and Bofur wasn’t entirely sure whether she was referring to Frerin, or Thorin, or both. 

“Princes will do what they want.”

The kettle whistled, and Bella got up to make herself a cuppa, adding some tea leaves, letting it steep. They had no milk, but she thawed a slice of lemon from their private stores into the cup, and eventually sat back down, hands around the cup, taking a sip.

“By the way,” Bella said finally. “Primula is one of the bravest people I know.”

Bofur nodded slowly, wondering where this was headed. “Aye.”

“And yet,” Bella continued thoughtfully, “When the wargs came, she was frozen where she was. All she could think of was that her Anchor wasn’t there. That because of that, she could do nothing.” 

“Could be that she was just… shocked,” Bofur said gently. “In battle, Primula hasn’t been away from Glóin before. And she’s young… we all are. It don’t mean that she lacked courage.”

“I didn’t _say_ that,” Bella said, with a little frown. “If she lacked courage she wouldn’t have gone up with me to investigate my suspicions. And _she_ was the one who wanted to press on rather than head back and alert the camp. What I mean is…” Bella let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know what I mean.”

“Well,” Bofur noted mildly, “I for one am glad that you were carrying around that dagger of yours. And it’s a great thing you did, taking down a warg.” 

“It was mauling Thorin. I just… _acted_ , I guess. I didn’t even really think about it.” Bella blew out a sigh. “It wasn’t a great thing. It was hampered by the snow. But _anyway_ ,” she added, when Bofur started to object. “Never mind,” Bella said grumpily, finishing her tea and getting up again to put the cup and kettle away. “I’m going to rest.” 

“All right,” Bofur said, bemused, and pulled off his boots, curling into his own bedroll. Setting his hat aside, Bofur pulled the thick bedding up to his shoulders and closed his eyes, listening to Bella bustling about and packing up the small stove, kettle and cup, then finally settling down to rest, blowing out the lantern. 

In the dark, Bofur listened to Bella breathing, a comforting sound, one that lulled him into a light doze that he tumbled out of when Bella said, softly, “I’m sorry that I worried you.”

“I’m your friend and your Anchor, not your keeper,” Bofur said gently. “Much as I _was_ worried. The moment I heard the wargs, I went straight to Gandalf… and the Prince rushed off in such a state, Glóin right on his heels.”

“Did you mention Paladin?”

“Nay. I just said that you’d had a bad feeling about something, and wanted to go off to take a quick look.”

“That’s good,” Bella said sleepily, relieved. 

“Besides, it’s more likely to me that the wargs sniffed along Frerin’s tail - or ours - than somehow chancing about Nori and Paladin. I’ve seen them sneak in and out of places locked tighter than a granddam’s purse.”

“Whatever it was,” Bella murmured, “I doubt we’ve seen the last of the beasts.”

“There might be worse up ahead,” Bofur said philosophically. “Something in the mountains bad enough to draw one of the Wizards over hereabouts.”

“That’s _such_ a great thought to go to sleep over.”

Thorin.

Whatever the poultice was that Gandalf had applied liberally on his cleaned wounds before bandaging them, it smelled strongly of mint and musky herbs, and Thorin was in a sour mood all morning, even though Frerin was still contrite and wargs had failed to attack them in the night.

The Ranger’s passage had levelled up, opening into a rocky slope that was treacherous even for the specially bread ponies, and their pace was uncomfortably slow, even though they could ride. Even Gandalf occasionally glanced back over his shoulder at the narrow ravine behind them, as though expecting wargs to erupt at any moment. The gray light of the morning seemed full of uncertain promise.

“How did you catch up to us without a pony?” Thorin asked Frerin. His brother was riding on one of the pack ponies, its saddlebags redistributed among the other ponies, and unusual for golden-haired, good-natured Frerin, his brother still looked chastened.

“I had a pony,” Frerin said, glancing up, “But I sent it back at the start of the Ranger’s passage. It didn’t look like you were travelling very fast. I hoped to catch up earlier, and explain, but you made better time than I did, climbing up above.”

“Why didn’t you just run up to us from the ravine?”

“Ah,” Frerin said, sounding embarrassed. “Well.”

“Frerin.”

“I was just… I wasn’t ready to catch up yet, and then I started wondering whether there was anything up top, then I saw that I could, well, see the tail end of your party from up above, so, maybe it was a good way to keep an eye on everyone, and…” Frerin trailed off helplessly.

“You were curious.” Thorin said, resigned. It was nothing new.

“Um. That’s right.”

From the front of the line, Gandalf grunted. “Your father will be much wroth.”

“That’s fine, he’ll get over it,” Frerin said breezily, and Thorin groaned, even as Dáin laughed. 

“It wouldn’t be as fine an adventure without _both_ my cousins being here.” 

“Exactly,” Frerin beamed, though his smile faded hastily as Thorin glowered at him. 

“It’s a wonder that you weren’t eaten by wargs while following us.” Thorin growled. “They probably followed your trail right to us!” 

“Now that’s not proven,” Frerin protested.

“Besides, it’s right hard to hide the trail of a group of ponies,” Dáin added, and annoying as it was, his cousin _did_ have a point. “Mahal’s beard! I say we let them come. The more wargs we kill here, the fewer there are out there.” 

“… That,” Thorin said very slowly, “Is some of the most ridiculous logic I’ve ever heard.” 

“We’re on an adventure, cousin,” Dáin pointed out, not in the least daunted by Thorin’s tone. “If we can’t be in the big battle, ‘least we can be in a small ‘un. Besides, out here, since there’s fewer of us, there’ll be more wargs to go around.” Frerin nodded vigorously in agreement, though he averted his eyes quickly at Thorin’s pointed stare. 

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m related to them at all.” Thorin said sourly, when he sat next to the Wizard at the break for lunch. They were sitting next to an odd cairn of stones, marked with faded scratches that Gandalf had read for a moment before deciding to make camp, and they sat on a shelf of rock near the hobbled ponies, watching the animals pick at their oats. That was a promising sign, and they’d heard no wargs since the night.

Gandalf shot him a glance that was far too amused for Thorin’s liking. “How is your arm?” the Wizard asked instead.

“Fine. It was only a scratch.”

“Oh, you are certainly related to those two.”

“What?” Thorin frowned.

“Stubborn to a fault.” Gandalf continued blithely, with another amused glance. “Inflexible as the stone from which you came.”

As Thorin mulled this over, wondering whether Gandalf was giving him insult, Gandalf strolled away, leaning on his staff, watching the sky as though studying it for some sort of mystic sign or whatever it was. Annoyed, Thorin glared at Gandalf’s back, and as such, nearly startled off the shelf of rock when Bella appeared right next to him, seated where Gandalf had been.

“I thought Gandalf said not to step into the halfway world or the Garden,” Thorin said, trying to cover his surprise - and pleasure. 

“He said there was no harm earlier this morning. No _further_ harm,” Bella added wryly, correcting herself. “Besides, it’s not… good for us to be away from the Garden for too long.”

“Are you…” Thorin hesitated. “About the night.”

“Yes, I am all right,” Bella said, with studied patience, “And yes, you are quite welcome, Thorin son of Thráin, and yes, I am sure that you would have done the same for me if our positions were reversed, and so on.”

It was a fey mood, this, and Thorin could not be sure quite what to make of it. “Thank you nonetheless,” he said finally. 

“Deep enough snow and good dwarven steel,” Bella shrugged. “Anyone could have done it.”

“That, I doubt very much,” Thorin said softly, and risked a glance at the camp. The others were seated around a small fire, trading jokes, and they were partly hidden from the group by the ponies. He reached for Bella, tentatively, picking up her hand, and she squeezed his far thicker fingers in gentle response. “You saved my life-“

“Thorin-“

“And I am in your debt.”

“Oh, let’s not go on about that,” Bella grumbled. “It’s _war_. We’ll all be saving each others’ lives here and about. I’m just glad that we all got away from that scrap more or less intact.” 

“You were right about Frerin.”

“Eh,” Bella waved a hand dismissively. “I guess I should’ve seen it coming. Dwarves are a stubborn lot, and their royalty is a hundred times worse.” She shot him a quick, sharp grin, and despite himself, Thorin laughed, startled, involuntarily: it burned the fey humour right out of Bella, and her pretty face crinkled up into a mischievous and brilliant smile, so bright that Thorin felt his throat start to clench up. 

“Had your parents still been… here,” Thorin said awkwardly, after an uncomfortable pause, “I would have asked them for permission to court-“

“And they would have said ‘no’,” Bella interrupted. “In a kindly way, if you’d asked my father, or bluntly, if you had asked my mother.” 

“Because that is the way of things?” Thorin couldn’t help the hurt edge to his voice even if he had tried. “Our societies have customs and traditions that have endured since the beginning of our history, but even those may change.”

“I never thought I would live to hear _that_ from a dwarf,” Bella said teasingly, but at Thorin’s solemn frown, she sighed. “Thorin. You are of the blood of Durin-“

“So is Balin, so is Dwalin,” Thorin cut in irritably. “Indirectly, certainly, but they can trace their bloodline back to Durin as well! And more often than not, your _thains_ bind themselves to their line. Your _mother_ chose their _father_ as her _Anchor_.”

“Hear me _out_ ,” Bella said firmly, then she glared at her hands. “I can’t explain it to a dwarf,” she said finally. “I don’t have the words for it. Perhaps Gandalf can. It’s not that we don’t _want_ one of the sons of Durin as an Anchor. It’s more that we _can’t_. It doesn’t work. Something… happened,” Bella continued helplessly. “A long time ago. To Durin the Deathless. It continues to touch your line, Thorin, yours and the Ironfoot.” 

“What did?”

“I’m not certain. I never asked. When I was… when I was very, very young. Before the dragon came.” Bella rubbed her palms over her knees. “Your brother, your sister and I came up with a pact. A children’s pact. A way for us _all_ to be friends forever. It was a stupid thing,” she murmured. “But you were called away very often to sit in on matters of state, and we thought that was not very fair at all.”

“You were all barely more than toddlers-“

“Oh, we were a fair bit older than that,” Bella interrupted, though she smiled tiredly. “Not by terribly very much, mind you. We thought it would be a _grand_ thing to go on an adventure. Just us. But how could a Crown Prince go on an adventure? Only if he was an Anchor, Frerin said, and it seemed like _such_ a fine idea.”

“… Truly?” Thorin didn’t remember very much of the days before the dragon. Sometimes it hurt to think about it. 

“So we went to my mother,” Bella continued, ignoring him, “Thank Yavanna we did _that_ much. And she listened, in that not-quite-laughing way that she had, and she said that it was a fine idea, if we could but get it to work.”

“She did?”

“‘Now?’ I asked then, and she said, ‘now,’ as though it was the most natural thing in the world. And so I went to you when you were studying something or other in the Great Library,” Bella said mildly, “All three of us. And when you greeted us I held your hand, and felt for the shape of your soul.”

“I remember this,” Thorin frowned. It had puzzled him at the time, and frightened his siblings. Little Bella had suddenly burst into tears, and fled the Library - Dís had run after her, while Frerin had gone pale and demanded to know what Thorin had done, all to his utter bewilderment. “Your mother wouldn’t tell me what had happened. Said that something you ate at lunch must have upset you. And then you avoided me for a _week_.” 

“There is something… different to those of your line,” Bella said quietly. “Something _hungry_. It frightened me. And I understood - why those of the Houses of Dwálin, of Barin, of Bávor, Thélor, Thrár, Drúin and Durin, stand alone.” 

“The seven dwarf kings of old,” Thorin said, confused. “But only the line of Durin is left. The rest have been swallowed by dragons and the orc. There is something… wrong?”

“No. Something _different_. That is all I can describe.” Bella exhaled. “So. I would not have told you this before, but knowing you, you would have pressed, and pressed, until we were both old and gray and exhausted.”

“Your mother _knew_ what you would see?”

Bella managed a wan smile. “Her style of parenting was to teach, not to dictate, and she too knew that had she not allowed me to be burned firsthand, I too would have pressed, and pressed, until everyone was old and gray and exhausted. So it is.”

It was an ugly thought to contemplate, but not one that he had enough information to think over: Thorin quietly resolved to try and get an answer out of the Wizard, if he could. “I wasn’t asking about a binding,” he said softly, “But about a suit.” 

This got a surprised burp of laughter out of Bella. “Dwarven royalty and your stubbornness! Well then, about _that_ ,” she said dryly, “How about this. I don’t happen to be a dwarf lass.”

“I know. I care not.”

“And you don’t happen to be a hobbit.” 

“You’ve told me that a suit from me is not unwelcome.” 

“I don’t want to have children. Even if it was possible,” Bella continued, arching an eyebrow. “All that business about childbirth and swelling up like a plum and having to put my feet up for months. Not for me.”

Thorin couldn’t quite tell if the fey mood was upon Bella again, but he nodded slowly. “Your prerogative. Currently, Frerin would be my heir, if not he, then his children.” 

“… All right,” Bella said slowly, blinking in astonishment. “I never intended to get married to anyone either. All that business about changing my name and such or being named ‘Consort’, I don’t like it. Always felt it to be somewhat of an unnecessary social contract.”

“Marriage isn’t a key part of… of something like this,” Thorin stumbled over his words awkwardly, again unsure of whether Bella was speaking the truth, or testing him, or something else.

“Surely it’s something you would have thought of.”

“Not particularly,” Thorin said softly. “I thought of… what it would be like for us to be promised. Of, yes, what it would be like for me to be your Anchor. Of what it would be like to hold you, for you to… return even a degree of what I feel when I am with you. The rest is chaff.” 

“‘Chaff’, he says,” Bella murmured, and then she sucked in a soft breath, sneaked a glance over the paddock to the main group, then abruptly shifted closer, her small hand sneaking around his back, resting her cheek on his shoulder as Thorin reached for her to pull her closer, to bury his face in her curly hair and breathe deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cough* okay. I guess some warning to readers. I've been in a committed relationship for nearly 10 years. I don't believe in marriage, and I don't like children. So for an f!Thilbo, I felt like writing a fic that didn't end in either - however else it might end. A lot of writing fiction, especially random just-for-fun nonprofit stuff like this, imo, is like therapy in a way. I've been under a lot of pressure from family to get married and pop brats, even though I have my own career. So. This fic. Therapy. 
> 
> Regardless, if you do want to read a Thilbo wedding... I've already written a fic where a Thilbo wedding happened (King & Dragonheart), and there's lots of other wedding fics out there. If you need a wedding/kids fix, you might want to check those. :3
> 
> Thanks everyone for following this fic so far! Sorry about the continued erratic update schedule. I'm now working in the creative industry, so after a work day, I don't often have the creative energy to write.


	7. Chapter 7

Frerin.

Thorin’s foul mood from the morning had improved considerably after lunch, and in Frerin’s opinion, it was fairly obvious why. Bella rolled her eyes at him when Frerin winked at her while they were packing up, and later, Frerin caught up with Thorin at the head of the line when they were on the move.

This route through the mountains was still treacherous. With snow heavy on the distant peaks, avalanches were a possible concern, and the terrain was uneven and often split with dangerous crevasses, some shallow enough to turn a heel, others deep enough to swallow a pony. Nothing seemed to grow here, and the air felt thin, but on occasion, Frerin would spot something moving on the slopes in the distance: a tiny herd of wild goat, once, and another, a slinking hunting cat. 

To Frerin’s surprise, Thorin started talking first. “Bella mentioned that… before the dragon, you talked her into choosing me as an Anchor.”

“That?” Frerin frowned a little, puzzled by the comment: it seemed utterly left of field. “That was a long time ago. We were children. Besides,” he began, then hastily swallowed his words. Promises made as children were still promises, and he was of the blood of Durin.

“It didn’t work,” Thorin added, and smiled thinly when Frerin blinked at him. “Bella talked to me.”

“She swore _me_ and our sister into sticking to her mum’s story,” Frerin said cautiously, still wondering where this was going. “It was a long time ago, brother.” 

“No wonder you tried to dissuade me when I was bent on persuading Bella to choose me. Before the muster. You and Dís.” Thorin said thoughtfully. 

“Didn’t work before,” Frerin shrugged. “Doubt it was going to work now. And besides,” he added accusingly, “It made her cry the last time. Cry! I’ve never seen Bella cry before until then, even that time when we were climbing about in the kitchens and she fell and broke her arm.”

“I remember _that_ as well,” Thorin scowled. “Something about trying to reach a lemon pastry. Your idea as well, if I recall.” 

“That aside,” Frerin added hastily, “We were just afraid you would upset her again, that’s all. We were glad when she jumped ahead and chose Bofur.” 

Thorin scowled, glowering at the mountains to his left, his hands tightening briefly on the reins, then he exhaled irritably. “That’s all in the past. She chose Bofur for her Anchor, I’ll respect her choice.”

“… My word,” Frerin said slowly. “The sun’s about to set in the south and rise in the north.” At Thorin’s snort, Frerin added slyly, “Are you truly Thorin my brother?”

“That being said,” Thorin continued irritably, “I still…” All his breath seemed to leave him in a rush, and Thorin glanced up at the sky, as if trying to pick out words from the sparse clouds above.

“Aye, aye,” Frerin said comfortingly, when a muscle jumped in his brother’s jaw. “Remember what I said earlier about it being just about bloody obvious for everyone to see?”

“It’s not as though I would wish to hide it,” Thorin said severely, then he gentled his tone. “I just hoped that you and Dís would have…”

“Approved?” Frerin supplied, with a faint grin. “Since when has that mattered?”

“It always has, Mahal take you and all exasperating siblings,” Thorin growled, and Frerin laughed, and leaned over precariously, to clap his brother on his shoulder, ignoring the reproachful whinny from his pony as the weight on its back shifted. 

“If it’s much comfort, Dís already approves, not that she’ll tell you, because she feels that you need to suffer a little more on this, what with that throughly majestic sulk you went into when you found out that Bofur had been chosen.”

“I wasn’t sulking,” Thorin muttered.

“As to me,” Frerin added blithely, “I think it’ll make your life a lot easier if the two of you were just friends. But it’s not in our nature or our bloodline to take the easy path, by Mahal.” 

“No,” Thorin agreed soberly. “I believe it is not.”

“Well,” Frerin forced some cheer into his tone, “Try not to think about it! You’re young, our Father has many years left to him, _she’s_ young, why worry about it now? We’ve wargs to kill and a dwarven hold to explore!” 

“I suppose you are right,” Thorin said, in that abstracted way that he did whenever he wasn’t _exactly_ agreeing, and Frerin sniffed. Thorin had grown more and more grave and serious with age, despite Frerin and Dís’ best efforts. The weight of the shadow of the crown was serious indeed, and Frerin was glad to be free of it. “Gandalf would not tell me what he suspects lies within Khazad-dûm.” 

“Durin’s bane,” Frerin said enthusiastically, with a sharp grin. “That’s in _all_ the stories. Durin’s bane drove our people out of Khazad-dûm.”

“But _what_ is it?” 

“Well, it’s not likely to be a dragon,” Frerin said reassuringly, “They won’t suffer orcs crawling about in a mountain, and besides, I doubt there’s quite enough gold in Khazad-dûm to attract a drake.”

Thorin shrugged. Their records were patchy at best, of the riches that had once lain in Khazad-dûm, of exactly what had precipitated the flight of the dwarves. “We woke something in the deep.” 

“Maybe it’s dead, it probably is,” Frerin shrugged. “I feel that the Wizard is worried over nothing.”

“Then why do the orcs fight above ground?”

“Why not? It’s what they’ve usually done. Besides, orcs are _orcs_. They’re hardly strategic creatures. And you can’t rightly use wargs indoors, can you? That huge pack would be useless.”

Thorin nodded slowly, though he frowned to himself still. “I do hope that this _does_ turn out to be a wasted trip,” he said at last.

“Hope so,” Frerin agreed, “Because Father would likely be wroth enough with the _Wizard_ , and would then probably forget that I snuck out of the camp.”

“As to that,” Thorin said dryly, “I think it unlikely.”

Nori.

Nori hadn’t liked the possibility that disobeying the Wizard was the reason why the warg pack had their trail, and he liked pretending that it was definitely Frerin’s fault even less. Rogue that he was, and thief, and scoundrel, where Wizards were concerned, Nori liked to think that he was an honest one. Mostly.

Still, he had allowed himself to be harangued into keeping his peace by the hobbits, though he wasn’t quite happy about it. At least the claustrophobic Ranger’s passage had opened up onto rocky plains, allowing them to ride their ponies. He drew up beside Bofur and Bella, again straggling at the back of the line, and Bella stopped in the middle of a lecture to shoot Nori an inquiring glance.

“How’s things?” Nori asked, though he didn’t need to: Bofur looked tired, his shoulders slumped, and there was a tightness to Bella’s eyes. 

“Fine.” Bella said shortly.

“Not hardly,” Bofur mumbled, and shrugged when Bella glanced sharply at him. “Bella…”

“Well, what’re you up to, then?” Nori interrupted quickly, stepping his pony up next to Bofur’s. Bofur was holding a smooth pebble, any one of hundreds of millions that could be found in the range, and was tossing it from hand to hand. 

“It’s _got_ to be stone sense of some sort,” Bella muttered. 

“And why’s that?” Nori asked mildly.

Bella frowned at him, as though trying to pick out whether he was baiting her, then she sighed. “Well. We’ve tried music. Tried healing. Bofur’s a _miner_. _Bifur_ has stone sense.”

“Now look here,” Nori said gently. “Bofur’s a miner, certainly. But d’you know why our sort often become miners, Mistress Baggins?”

Bella’s frown deepened. “Why’s that?”

“We can’t all have grown up friends with Princes,” Nori continued calmly.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Bella demanded, even as Bofur protested, “Nori, look-“

“I’m just saying,” Nori continued blandly, “That because of the original pact that Yavanna made with Mahal, as far as we can manage it, any hobbit will always want for nothing: not that your kin need very much in the way of things out here in the Prime. So your folk have a very… academic understanding of poverty.” 

“I went through the lean years too,” Bella said defensively, “Out after the Calamity.”

“Well true,” Nori said patiently, “But y’see, for people of our sort: me, my brother, Bifur, Bofur? We’re the smallfolk, Bella. Mining is what Bifur and Bofur do, because they have no skill at trade, like Dori, or very much in the way of coin to pay for a crafter’s apprenticeship. The _majority_ of the smallfolk in Ered Luin are miners, because we have few options. Hard to see that when you’ve got one foot in the Other all the time.”

Bella flushed in embarrassment, and Bofur sighed. “That’s not necessary,” he said firmly. 

“I’m just saying,” Nori continued blithely, “That Bella’s working under a misunderstanding, and might be that _that’s_ the problem, eh?”

“Aye, perhaps so,” Bella mumbled. “Thank you, Nori.”

“But what could it be then?” Bofur asked glumly. “Unless it’s nothing after all.”

“Well,” Nori said, with a sharp smile, “You know what Dori says about you? ‘That Bofur’,” Nori mimicked Dori’s fussy tone, “‘Always tinkering with something. Carving something here, stringing something together there, the noise has _got_ to drive Bombur to distraction-’” 

“That’s it,” Bella said excitedly, “Maybe that’s it!” 

“Could be,” Bofur said doubtfully, though he smiled faintly at the sight of Bella’s joy. “It’s worth a shot. You could’ve said something before,” he told Nori.

“Eh,” Nori said dismissively, “It didn’t half occur to me until right now. Paladin and I have been forced to sit quiet and behave these last few days: I’ve had naught to do but sit with me thoughts. Besides,” he added cautiously, “It might not work.”

And it didn’t - not with the little wooden carving that Bofur had been whittling down since they’d set off for Khazad-dûm, anyway. Bofur squinted and stared and tried moving it about from palm to palm, but nothing happened, no matter what Bella seemed to try, and at the end of it, Bofur sighed, his shoulders slumping a little.

“Good thought though,” he told Nori, with a certain sort of wry resignation. 

“There was… something, I thought.” Bella glared at the little wooden carving as though it offended her. “I could sense a… pull? A little tug. Maybe we’re in the right direction.”

“I didn’t. Maybe,” Bofur said heavily, “I’m not rightly the one for this sort of job, Bella. I’m not very complicated a person nor am I particularly any sort’o a clever fellow and-“

“And you were _right_ for me,” Bella said fiercely, “D’you think we take choosing Anchors lightly? I looked at the shape of your _soul_ , Bofur. There was no mistake.”

“Maybe not,” Bofur said gently, “But the Wizard did say that sometimes, bindings don’t manifest, aye? Which is all very well, when you’re not riding off on secret missions into the heart of orc strongholds.”

“Even if it doesn’t manifest,” Bella added firmly, “I don’t regret choosing you.”

“Aye? Seems t’me that you didn’t want to choose anyone at all.”

“Well, p’haps not so soon,” Bella amended. “But had I had to choose someone-“

“But you didn’t,” Bofur said, with the same, patient gentleness. “You didn’t have to. But I’m glad that you did,” he added, when Bella sucked in a tight breath. “For you’ve been a great friend ever since we first met, funny as that was, and I’m glad t’be here.” 

“Heard you fell down a hole,” Nori said, his tone deliberately light, and Bella glowered at him.

“It was a _pit_ , and I got _lost_ in the mine. Bofur,” Bella said, reaching out to clasp his wrist, “Even if… nothing happens. Even with what I felt before. I don’t regret choosing you as my Anchor. Believe it.”

Bofur stared at her thoughtfully for a long moment, then he nodded, and smiled a little sheepishly, and looked away. “Aye. I s’pose I do.”

Paladin.

Whether it was Frerin or Paladin and Nori who had tipped off the wargs was now more or less moot, in Paladin’s opinion. The days were quiet, but at night, echoing, distant howls bounced off the vast mountains, putting everyone on edge. Dwalin and the other noble-blooded dwarves had taken to sparring to work off steam: the rest, perhaps more sensibly, opted out of it. Bifur and Bofur attended to a small fire and a pot of stew from their stores, while Nori prowled restlessly around the camp, irritated at having to stay put.

“We could just head out,” Paladin murmured, when they were on the perimeter of the small camp.

“No more trouble,” Nori retorted, with a glare at the dark beyond, as another howl echoed back towards them. The wargs were hunting. 

“They already know where we are. We’ve left tracks a mile wide.”

“We’ve had some luck with snow,” Nori said, though he didn’t sound convinced. Warg packs were deadly: and unnaturally determined, especially when allied with the orc.

“Well, if they come,” Paladin shrugged, “We’ve got a right handful of Anchors and a Wizard.” 

“That sort’o thinking is more dangerous than the warg pack itself.”

Paladin sighed. “Nori…”

“I should be out there,” Nori muttered. “I can scout. I’ve done it before… before the binding, even. If I can stay upwind, I’ll be fine. It’s dark out, and wargs don’t have great night vision. They’re just big wolves. They use scent.”

“Great _big_ wolves,” Paladin reminded Nori, aghast. “I suppose if we-“

“No ‘we’,” Nori interrupted. “You can’t come with me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I won’t be stepping into the halfway world.”

“All the more reason! What if they pick up _your_ scent?”

“That’s why,” Nori said, with a flat tone, “You won’t be coming with me.”

“I’m going to go straight to Gandalf if you leave without me.”

“No you won’t,” Nori retorted. “Because you know that forging out blind like this is a mistake. Because you know that our current camp’s on a flat plain, not defensible at all. You know that if the wargs are close, we _have_ to have warning. So you stay here.” 

“But we’ve never-“ 

“ _You’ve_ never gone scouting without a binding,” Nori corrected, though this time his tone was a fraction gentler. “I have. Now stay here, Paladin.”

“Fine,” Paladin said grumpily.

“Promise me.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Promise me,” Nori repeated, and irritated, a little frightened, Paladin promised. Nori nodded absently, as though satisfied, and turned on his heel, walking noiselessly away from the camp, circling around a boulder, then climbing higher, up onto a finger of rock. Shivering, wrapping his arms around himself, Paladin watched and waited until he could no longer see his Anchor.

“What’re you doing out here?”

Paladin only managed to stifle a yelp by biting down on his wrist. “Es-Esme!”

“Hope you’re not sneaking off again,” Esme said, with a cheeky smile that dropped quickly when she saw his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Paladin said, with a forced smile.

“My arse.” Esme squinted off into the dark, then around the camp. “Where’s N-“

“Shh!” Paladin shushed her hurriedly.

“He’s gone off?” Esme hissed. “Without you?”

“Said he could scout without me!”

“That’s arse!”

“Language,” Paladin said severely, but Esme rolled her eyes at him. 

“That’s it. I’m going to get Bifur.”

“No you don’t,” Paladin grabbed her wrist. “Nori knows what he’s doing.”

“Aye? And that’s why you’re standing here staring into the dark, eh?”

“He knows what he’s doing,” Paladin said firmly, “And there’s no point making trouble where there isn’t any.”

As if to argue the point, there was another faint, distant howl, and Paladin shivered. Damn Nori and his stubbornness! He glared at the dark, and it felt for a moment as if it stared right back at him: Paladin shivered again, and stared at his feet; nearly flinching when Esme grabbed his hand.

“I’ll keep you company then,” Esme whispered, “Else you’ll look like a right fool standing here by your lonesome, Paladin Took.”

“Damn your nosiness, Esmeralda Took,” Paladin whispered back, though he was briefly, absurdly grateful. To stand with his little sister here, even with the vastness of rock and sky about them, the sheer desolate wildness beyond: the world felt simpler. Nori was out there, as were the wargs, but Nori would return. He always had.

“I heard that after the Old Gaffer goes to the Gray Lands,” Esme said, “They might do a vote.” 

“Mm-hmm. That’s normal.”

“So,” Esme said casually, “Rosie told Lily who told Daisy who told me that it seems like your name’s been bandied about.”

Paladin choked on a laugh that became a cough. “Ridiculous.” 

“Why not?” Esme asked pertly. “You’re the head of our Clan, and pretty well known. You, and Nori? You’ve done some big deeds.”

“There’s others more suited. Ferumbras-“

“It’s just something I heard.”

“Yavanna forbid. If I was Thain, I’ll have to… to sit in on _meetings_ and Council work and never, ever be able to walk the halfway worlds again.”

“That’s not true and you know it. The Old Gaffer’s out there with Balin.” Esme gestured in the vague direction of the Gianduin encampment.

“Only because there’s a war on.” Paladin scowled. “You can tell Daisy to tell Lily to tell Rosie that I’ll never be Thain. Besides, Nori won’t like it. Can you imagine him being bound to the Thain?”

Esme studied him for a long moment, then she smiled. “Dwarves don’t refuse bindings, Paladin.”

“Maybe if the circumstances change.” Paladin muttered. “And Nori’s not like the other dwarves.” 

“Aye, he’s a thief.”

“He is _not!_ ”

“I like him,” Esme stuck her tongue out briefly at Paladin in a highly unladylike but just as equally Tookish gesture. 

They ended up bickering, as usual, if in low tones, and as such, when Nori abruptly said, behind them, “Really? Even out here? The two of you?” both Took siblings let out near-identical yelps of surprise. 

“See, I told you he’ll be fine,” Esme said firmly, the little liar, and Paladin sniffed.

“We’ve got to move,” Nori said brusquely, striding towards the campfire even as Paladin had to jog to keep up. “Esme, find the Wizard. There’s trouble coming, and fast.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning** for minor canon character death.

Bella.

The wargs caught up with them with contemptuous ease, even with the ponies in dead flight, near mad with terror. It was a _huge_ pack, more than Bella could comfortably count, barking and howling as they gained ground; the world itself seemed to _burn_ with their savage snarls as they tore into the narrowing valley between two sheer rock faces.

Bella risked a glance back over her shoulder, and soon wished she hadn’t. The warg in the lead was a gigantic beast, even in the way of wargs, and it was a strange, bone-white in colour, as though leached of all proper life, animated only by brutal and bestial cruelty.

“They’re gaining on us!” Primula yelled from in front, to where the Wizard was holding on tightly to his hat as the horse pulled ahead.

“Yes I can see that quite well, Primula Brandybuck!” Gandalf called back irritably. 

Primula exchanged a glance with her Anchor, and their ponies slowed. “There’s no working out of it. Glóin and I will hold them off. Try to slow them down.”

“Aye, we’ll give them a right time of it,” Glóin grunted.

“If anyone stays behind it should be me!” Frerin objected. 

“I say we all stay, and fight!” Dáin added, and Bella tried not to roll her eyes, even as Esme snapped, “Bifur’s got a lead! Turn! Turn! Head for higher ground! We can lose them on the narrow paths!” 

“Turn where?” Thorin demanded, looking around the seemingly endless, if narrowing steep walls of rock hemming them in, even as Bifur kicked his heels, his pony speeding up with a terrified whinny. Esme took in a deep breath and flickered for a moment before vanishing: riderless, her pony veered in surprise for a moment before falling into stride with the rest of the herd, and Bifur’s skin started to glow a bright, hot blue as the binding caught.

The normally taciturn dwarf leaned precariously from his saddle, raising a fist, and for several heartbeats Bella thought it was just some gesture of defiance - but then there was a loud, sundering _crack_ , a whip of shattering sound behind them, and the knot of wargs scattered to the side, yelping, slowing: an abrupt crevasse had swallowed some of their number. One unlucky beast whined and whimpered as it scrabbled frantically with its claws at the lip of the crevasse, gouging rents into the ground before it too, slipped and fell out of sight. 

Stone sense. The ‘purest’ of the manifests, and the most elemental to the dwarf-kind. All unbidden, a sharp smile curled up the edges of Bella’s lips. There was a cheer from up front, from both Frerin and Dáin. “Make it bigger!” Dáin whooped. “Cast down the lot of them, by Mahal!”

“That’s not how stone sense _works_ ,” Thorin growled, even as Bifur caught up with him, his beetling brow furrowed furiously as he gestured sharply in iglishmêk, his hands partly hidden by his bulk, and Bella could not quite pick out what he was saying. Thorin nodded, however, turning in his saddle to shout an order - which stopped dead in his throat as he grew pale with horror, looking straight at Bella-

Bella could but guess. She pulled hard on the reins of her poor Myrtle, causing the pony to bolt to the side, and the white warg’s leap missed: narrowly. Shouting something in wordless defiance, Bella fumbled with her dagger, only for the warg to growl and leap bodily to the side, dense and huge enough that it shouldered Myrtle sprawling, the pony shrieking in terror.

Landing under her pony broke… _something_ ; Bella could not hear anything over Myrtle’s cries, over the warg’s howls, over Thorin’s shout of dismay. One leg pinned and useless, Bella squirmed desperately, gritting her teeth against the pain, dragging herself into the Garden and then back out when she had pulled herself free. She could see Thorin turning towards her, but she snapped, “Go! Go!” even as she pulled her dagger free. 

If this was death, how could Bella be afraid? Her mother had died facing the _Calamity_ itself, and she had not been afraid.. 

There was a garbled yell as the white warg turned, and Bella shouted, “Bofur, no!” as Bofur, dismounted and on his feet, swung his mattock at the warg’s flank. It snarled and whirled out of reach, light on its feet for such a huge animal, snapping at its attacker with its huge, slavering jaws, and Bofur backed hastily away, nearly tripping up against Myrtle as the pony scrambled up, seemingly unhurt, bolting off, still shrieking in fright. 

“Bofur, no,” Bella whispered, though there was no running now, for either of them: she could not even see what had become of the others, so thick was the circle of wargs around them; she could hear a thick discordant cacophony of yips and snarls, and worse, she could smell them, a raw and bestial stench, blood and rot and death. So were the beasts of Morgoth forged. 

“You should have gone on,” Bella continued softly, though she was desperately glad that Bofur was here, selfishly so. If she had to die like this-

“I said I don’t regret bein’ here,” Bofur retorted, swinging his mattock threateningly as the wargs sniffed and snarled. “I’m glad that you chose me. How could I leave?”

“You’re a fool!”

Bofur flashed her a wry smile, though he didn’t look away from the white warg. “Aye, and your Anchor. So there you have it.” 

“Why aren’t they attacking?” Bella asked, but she knew before she asked: the white warg was watching them, with a certain malevolent intelligence that was strange for one of the wargs. Studying them. Perhaps waiting for one of them to break and run, first. Shakily, she wondered which of them looked more appetising: a child of the Garden, or a child of the Stone-

Stone.

“Bofur,” Bella said urgently, “I’ve got one more idea.”

“I’m not leavin’ you.”

“Try building,” Bella urged, even as she pushed herself into the Garden, and then _further_ , to her Anchor, riding spirit to flesh; _Try Shaping_ -

She felt rather than heard Bofur’s sharp intake of surprise, but he obediently backed a step, frowning, groping blindly into what felt like the dark, and for a moment Bella thought perhaps that she had killed them both, after all, that she had gambled this round and lost yet again, with far graver consequences than before, and then-

And then-

Behind them, there was a grinding roar of stone as the rock itself seemed to give way, sundering _outwards_ as Bofur turned to look at it: a craggy shelf gave way into a hunched shoulder, a series of weathered gouges into fingers, an outcrop into a forehead, as the stone giant tore itself free of the rock, its limbs burning with the same blue light that ran up from Bofur’s fists. It took a heavy step forward, bowling yelping wargs out of its way, and swept a stone fist around at Bofur’s gesture, catching the white warg heavily out of the arc of its leap, crushing it aside. 

Energy itself, _life_ -force, perhaps, seemed to pull out of Bella in a rush, and she nearly fought it for a moment before she gave it, allowing Bofur to draw upon her, pushing all that she could to his fingertips; now, finally, at the end of all things, they were one. She could sense again the entirety of Bofur’s soul, and it fit her will perfectly: through the Gift, the awakening pact touched the mystery of the Garden to the surety of the Prime.

The stone puppet waded ponderously into the fray, crushing and stamping and Bofur flinched at a sudden impact far to his right, turning, he caught a glimpse of Dwalin, warhammer upraised, before a warg blocked him from view. The black beast snarled, preparing to spring, but Nori abruptly appeared beside it, drawing his daggers up and through its throat, then flickering away again. 

_No_ , Bella thought despairingly, _They turned back!_

“You think they’d have left us behind?” Bofur asked wryly, as the stone giant flattened palms on the earth, nearly shaking Bofur from his feet, smashing wargs into the rock, then sweeping up two more in its huge hands and hurling them far into the distance, then taking another lumbering step to the left, dragging its palms with ponderous, deadly ease back and forth, batting wargs bodily into the air. 

It grew too much for the beasts: they broke and fled, yelping and howling, fleeing away back through the mountains, the white warg at their flank, limping but still managing a loping run. With relief, suddenly exhausted, Bofur carefully let go of the binding, the draw easing abruptly from Bella, the Gift ebbing, and the giant was but stone once more, crumbling to ruin on the rock. 

Bella stumbled out of the binding and into Bofur’s arms, breathing hard and utterly drained. “You must’ve broken your leg during that nasty fall,” Bofur said quietly, frowning at her foot, and Bella leaned heavily against Bofur as she looked around anxiously.

Glóin and Dwalin were straightening up, warg carcasses at their feet, looking about, while Bifur stood near Gandalf, wringing his hands, another deep rent in the ground not too far behind him. Nori stepped out of the halfway world near what had once been a giant’s foot, his eyes narrowed, daggers and hands blackened with warg blood, and Dáin looked to be favouring an arm, even as he spat contemptuously onto a carcass.

But Thorin - Thorin was kneeling by a body, his hand clenched tight in the hilt of his blade, the tip buried in the rock, and at his feet… at his feet was _Frerin_ , bloodied, with gore at his neck, sightless, his gorgeous leonine mane a matted tangle of red.

“Frerin!” Bella wailed, and tried to pull away from Bofur, but he held her still, helping her hobble over instead; the sobs welled up within her, first in a thin, keening cry of sorrow, then great heaving sobs that seemed to shake her bones, a lonely sound of grief in the vastness of stone around them.

Death had come after all. The miracle had been too late.

Thorin.

Bifur’s stone sense had found them a cave in the ravine, up a narrow ledge, probably another remnant of the rangers. Their ponies were long gone, poor beasts, and thankfully, most of them had thought to cut their packs free of the saddle before dismounting for battle.

It did mean that their supplies had effectively been halved, and they had no more tents, but there were still enough bedrolls and blankets, and some food. Not that anyone had much of an appetite after what had happened, most sitting in quiet, miserable huddles around the small fire that they had built. 

Bella sat near the entrance of the cave, her leg treated by Gandalf’s mysterious arts and seemingly healed, though it did appear to pain her. Bofur was asleep, in a dead slumber, curled against the wall of the cave close to Bella and wrapped tightly in his bedroll, and for a moment, envy warred with grief and then with awe. 

A _Shaper_. According to the records of his people, no Shapers had existed among the Anchors, not since the days of Durin the Deathless: the last of them had stayed to slow down Durin’s Bane, and had all been slain. 

Sometimes history itself seemed to echo down the ages to the present, uncomfortably so. Thorin was not one for omens, particularly ill ones, but this did not bode too well for their quest, especially with the Wizard looking so grim. 

Gandalf also sat near the entrance, on the opposite side, smoking his pipe. For an old-looking Man, he could fight with a vigor that betrayed his true nature: he had slain perhaps as many of the wargs as Glóin with the longsword that he wore at his belt, and he had been hardly out of breath at the end of it. 

“Thorin,” Bella murmured, and beckoned, to Thorin’s surprise: he sat down gratefully beside her, and she tucked her cheek against his shoulder, warm and soft against him, her small hands circling his waist. “I’m sorry.”

“It was his choice to follow us.” The words sounded hollow even to him, thin and brittle. Although Thorin had begun to drift apart from his siblings the moment his father had deemed him old enough to learn the ways of rule; in this world he had loved them most, still, and Frerin- he could not imagine a world without Frerin, even now, when he himself had piled the rock atop his brother’s body, built his cairn.

Bella said nothing, only shuddering as she pulled him closer, and after a long, silent moment, broken only by Gandalf’s smoking, Bella murmured, “You should have kept going.” 

“Then-“

“You _should_ have.”

“Primula turned back first.” It was a lie: they had just about all turned back when Bofur had wheeled about, but Bella smiled wanly at Thorin as he said it. 

The smile didn’t last. “Yavanna… What will we tell your sister?”

“That Frerin went to the halls of our fathers a warrior, as bravely as any-“ 

Bella shook her head slowly, as though overwhelmed with grief all over again, and closed her eyes, and after a moment, to Thorin’s total lack of surprise, she was asleep, finally exhausted. He petted her hip tentatively, then shifted her carefully against himself, cradling her closer, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head, breathing in the sweetness of her scent. It was scant comfort in the rawness of his grief, but it was something.

“A Shaper,” Gandalf murmured, and for a moment, Thorin hated the Wizard a little for breaking the stillness. 

“Aye.”

“Hum! Yavanna does work in strange ways.”

“Say what you mean, Wizard. I’m no longer in the mood for riddles.”

“Durin’s Bane was imprisoned by the Shapers. That’s one story, in any regard.” 

“I heard that the Shapers were murdered.”

“But Durin’s Bane, whatever it is, remains within Moria,” Gandalf pointed out. “When it could have ventured forth.” 

“Perhaps it was content with its lair.” 

“Or not. Turn back if you wish,” Gandalf said firmly, “But _I_ need to enter Moria.”

“I’ve come this far,” Thorin grated out. “Why should I turn back? You dishonour my brother’s memory with the suggestion.”

“Oh, come now,” Gandalf said irritably. “I intended nothing of the sort. Your line has but you left now to inherit the throne… not that I’ve been particularly fond of how you dwarves treat the matter of Kings, for your women oft tend to be more sensible than your men, but regardless, there’ll be chaos in this part of the world should there be no more heirs to the line of Durin.”

“My father set me a task,” Thorin retorted stubbornly. “I intend to perform it.” His throat clenched, and he looked away sharply, blinking hard. “My brother would have insisted.”

“The dead have no demands on the living,” Gandalf noted gently. “But very well.”

“More importantly,” Thorin grunted, “Azog knows that we’re coming. He’ll likely have reinforced the Eastern Gate.”

“He knows that we went through the passes. I’m not sure if he knows we intend to reach the Gate.” Gandalf puffed briefly at his pipe. “But I do take your point. Thankfully, Bifur has informed me of a solution.”

“What solution?” Thorin hadn’t noticed Bifur talking to Gandalf, but then again, he hadn’t noticed very much at all, even up the steep and treacherous ledge to this cave, dazed and cradling his pain to himself. 

“He tells me that he can see passageways beneath the rock, close to the surface. Perhaps there’s a way down. Your people used to build Sky Doors, just in case. Particularly close to your mines. And besides,” Gandalf added, when Thorin opened his mouth to object, “The Rangers don’t create passageways where there are easier ways to get to their destinations. If they came this way, there must have been some reason to.”

“They could have gone straight through Khazad-dûm,” Thorin said doubtfully. “We are friendly with the Rangers.”

“But when Khazad-dûm fell?” Gandalf pointed out. “The Rangers liked to keep an eye on all that is fell in this world, particularly when their numbers were greater. The location of a Sky Door would be one reason for this road to exist.”

“Speculation,” Thorin decided, though he did feel hopeful, now that Gandalf had raised the matter. A Sky Door would be a fair way of getting the drop on their implacable enemies. “Sky Doors oft have wards. Locks.”

“Bifur tells me that he is confident,” Gandalf said, with an irritating calm, and Thorin glared sourly at the Wizard.

“Stone sense doesn’t work that way. Bifur can sense passageways, sure, and he can manipulate existing… tensions in the rock, as he did earlier to the wargs’ dismay, but to open a locked door? That he cannot.”

“We have a Shaper,” Gandalf pointed out. “Locks are trivial to someone who can animate the stone itself.”

Ah, of course. Thorin grimaced again. “As long as Bofur doesn’t bring down the ceiling atop us when he uses his ability in Khazad-dûm.” The rock face that had the… giant puppet torn out of it had started a slow and grinding collapse when they had left.

“With practice, certainly.” Gandalf seemed amused rather than wary at the thought, though. “Hopefully we’ll have no further need of his abilities once we are within Khazad-dûm. As I told your father, all I wish is to ascertain the situation, not make war on whatever is in Moria.”

“You should have done so before,” Thorin said resentfully, even though he knew it was an unjust comment. “Before this war.” 

Gandalf didn’t answer, thankfully, and eventually, it was Thorin who muttered an apology, gruff and near inaudible as it was: the Wizard arched his eyebrows and blew out a ring of smoke. “I _am_ sorry about your brother.”

“So am I.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I was finally less lazy and googled up the pixiv art that inspired this fic. it’s here [[click through the image to see the rest](http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=33423710)]… image 5 is it. omg. that f!Bilbo with the sword, so cute.
> 
> EDIT: AO3 ate the link when I posted it in the Chapter Text section. Should work now.

Primula.

The Sky Door opened for them easily enough, noiseless even through the ages, opening a rent in the rock that had first seemed seamless, and Glóin opted to be the first through, wearing the binding as he descended, torch in one hand, axe in the other. Sharing his sight, Primula tried to radiate calm against her Anchor’s grim mood: Glóin had felt responsible for the death of the Prince, as Captain of the Guard.

Glum, Primula had long given up trying to lighten her Anchor’s mood, and watched instead in his eyes as Glóin took the narrow stairwell down, careful of traps. There were none: in the dwarves’ flight from Durin’s Bane, they had not used the Sky Door, and as such it had been left undisturbed-

Or was it? Primula frowned, suspicious, and Glóin instantly looked about more cautiously as they walked out into a dark chamber. It was a guardhouse, built along the same lines as any dwarven guardhouse that Primula remembered: the dwarves tended to be utilitarian, practical people, and the guardhouse had a barracks at one end, the Sky Door exit behind, and an armoury to Primula’s right. Further along there would likely even be a set of small holding cells, and further yet, a door out to the main city that could be barred from this side. 

All looked as it should, save for a fire that had been built at the hearth, long dead - with coals that were not dwarven make. 

“Human,” Glóin murmured, as he looked them over, with a frown, and a quick circuit showed another old map, left at the sergeant’s desk near the main door. There was less dust on it than the rest of the room, just like the chair, which had been moved away from the table further than a dwarf would have sat. “Ranger map,” Glóin concluded, pointing at a sigil at the corner of the old parchment, and relaxed.

 _No one’s been here for a while_ , Primula agreed. _The Rangers have long moved on._

“Aye.” Glóin retreated back up the narrow steps to the anxious party waiting behind. Thorin relaxed visibly the moment they came into sight. “All clear,” Glóin reported. “Wizard was right. Rangers used this Sky Door to check on Moria. But they haven’t been back for a while, and they barred the main guardhouse door as they left.” 

“This is so exciting!” Esme breathed, and ignored the sharp jab that her brother angled at her. 

“Still think that I should have gone down to scout,” Nori told Thorin irritably, but Thorin made a dismissive gesture and stepped down through the Sky Door. 

“The Wizard didn’t want anyone stepping into the halfway world this close to Khazad-dûm.”

Nori glowered at the Wizard in question, but hastily followed on Thorin’s heels, even as Glóin fell back into step. They used the torches to light the smithy lanterns once they were in the guardhouse, and tossed the rest in the fireplace: even within the mountain, it was bitingly cold. 

Primula stepped back out into the Prime, with a cheeky nod at Gandalf. “Didn’t feel anything. Nor see anything, when I was passing through the Garden. Should be fine to use the Binding.” 

Gandalf grunted. “I suppose there’s no helping it. We _did_ have to use Bifur’s manifest to get through here, after all. I’ll just prefer to avoid the halfway world for now, if we can. Unlike the Prime, and unlike the Garden, it’s not a place that’s truly built with Yavanna’s touch, or by any hand at all.” 

Primula didn’t quite understand, but like most of her kin, she trusted the Wizards implicitly. Leaving Nori to argue his case, she hurried over to where Bofur had dusted off a chair at the sergeant’s desk, supporting Bella to it. Her friend’s leg still hurt her, Primula noted, from the tightness to Bella’s eyes, but knowing Bella, she would probably rather suffer her leg to be amputated first before complaining.

Bofur still looked tired, leaning against Bella’s chair as Dwalin and Glóin checked the guardhouse over for anything that Glóin might have missed on his first survey. “So we made it.” 

“And with any luck,” Primula agreed, “We won’t be here long.”

“You don’t sound convinced,” Bella noted, with a faint, sharp smile.

“Things do have a way of getting complicated when a Wizard’s around.” 

“I don’t think we have the stores to hang about for more than half a week,” Bofur said doubtfully. “What with the ponies having run off and such. We still have to get _back_ , and there was naught to eat on the way here.”

“Could try frying up some warg,” Primula suggested, just to watch Bella’s face crinkle up in horrified disgust. Bofur laughed, cottoning on to Primula’s intent, and Bella glowered briefly at her Anchor. 

“Meat’s meat.” 

“Faugh,” Bella pulled her face. “I’ll rather try eating my _shoes_. We should-“ Bella cut herself off as Gandalf strode over to the guardhouse door, looking irritable. “Gandalf.”

“Don’t you start, Bella Baggins,” Gandalf said severely. “I intended to get to Moria to explore it and now we are here. I will head out. Bar the door behind me. And do not open it until I return.”

“We cannot let you leave alone,” Thorin objected, close on the Wizard’s heels. “If anything, this was our home.” 

“This was _not_ your home, Thorin son of Thráin,” Gandalf said tiredly. “That was Erebor, now lost, and now you have Ered Luin. This place is a tomb, a fell place to war over, and my suspicions are mine to deal with. You have done well to get this far. Now stay here. I don’t want you lot blundering about and calling attention to yourselves.”

“Why’d you have to drag us all this way, then?” Dáin demanded resentfully.

“Because I thought perhaps we’d have to fight our way through the East Gate,” Gandalf said tartly. “Thankfully, because of Master Bifur, that did not eventuate. Stay here. And wait.”

Thorin scowled: dwarven royalty were not, as a rule, entirely happy to be told what to do, but Gandalf had already unbarred the door, opening it. Primula found herself holding her breath, expecting a telling creak, a rusty moan that might alert the enemy to their presence, but dwarven construction held true yet again: the door opened noiselessly.

The Wizard slipped out, and with one last, severe look at them all, he closed the door behind him. 

“Blundering about indeed!” Nori expostulated, once Gandalf seemed safely out of earshot. 

“I don’t think we should have let him go out alone,” Paladin agreed worriedly. 

“We’ll wait as long as our supplies will allow us to,” Thorin decided, and held up a hand when both Nori and Paladin seemed set to object. “As far as I am concerned, our duty is almost done. The Wizard has been brought to Khazad-dûm.”

Drogo.

Drogo had always been a little overawed by his cousin Bella, even after he had chosen Dwalin, even when Bella had been experiencing difficulties with her own Anchor. As such, he awkwardly approached the corner of the barracks where Bofur and Bella were seated on bunks, concentrating on a brick, and waited patiently until Bella glanced up at him.

“What is it, Drogo?” Bella asked distractedly. “Bofur, can you see the Shaping?”

“Not in this,” Bofur said apologetically. “I don’t rightly know. It’s already… finished, I s’pose the word is.”

Bella exhaled in frustration. “The stories of the Shapers of old said that they could Shape anything of their fancy from _anything_. It didn’t have to be stone. And it didn’t have to be _raw_ stone.”

“Aye, well, there haven’t been any of the ‘Shapers of old’ since this place went to the orc,” Bofur said mildly. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Drogo said nervously, twisting his chubby fingers against each other. “But Prim said that she’s seeing something odd in the Garden, and we’re to step between. When. Um. When you’re free.”

“Something odd?” Bella repeated, in surprise, then she looked apologetically at Bofur, who smiled, clearly relieved at the reprieve.

“Well, go then. Hobbit business, eh?”

Bella nodded distractedly, and disappeared. Drogo followed, waking from the dusty, solemnly spartan guardhouse into the twilight summer. They stood on the slopes of some fir-lined mountain, the air thick and sweet with the scent of pine, and Primula waved at them from where she stood, some distance away. 

Frowning, Bella hurried over, with Drogo on her heels, and he tried not to stare too hard at his feet. If Bella intimidated him, pretty, boisterous Primula was worse: Drogo could never say any more than a few mumbled words around _her_ , and he could hardly ever keep from blushing whenever she did have some sort of reason to speak to him. 

Thankfully, or not, Primula ignored him, though at her side, Esme waved, and Paladin nodded a greeting. “Look at that,” Primula gestured, without preamble.

Drogo squinted in the direction of her pointing finger. “I only see trees… sorry, sorry,” he mumbled, when Primula glowered at him.

“I don’t think we should explore the Garden so close to… whatever it is that Gandalf is worried about,” Bella said, squinting as well. “What is it? Oh… wait. I see it.”

And so did Drogo. Somewhere, behind the ranks of fir trees, down the steep slope, was a faint, bluish glow: blink and he would’ve missed it. 

“It can’t be another one of us,” Paladin said doubtfully.

“No, it isn’t.” Bella muttered, and squared her shoulders. “It’s a spirit.” 

“A… you mean those things that you send back? The dead?” Esme squeaked, wide-eyed. 

“Aye. I can see them in the Prime. They look a little like that. Only less… ragged,” Bella said vaguely. “More formless. But it’s a spirit, all right. Maybe more than one.”

“What sort of spirit?” Primula asked, finally sounding excited, and Bella squinted a little more, before exhaling.

“I can’t tell. But it’s certainly either a dwarf or a hobbit. It’s trapped. Just like the others. Somewhere on the lower levels of this place.”

“Trapped,” Paladin said grimly. 

“It’s just a ghost,” Drogo offered, a little awkwardly. “It’s been here all this time.”

“Well,” Primula huffed, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t like the thought of a spirit being trapped forever in this foul, forsaken place. Let’s go and release it.”

“We’re meant to wait _here_ until the Wizard gets back,” Esme pointed out.

“The dwarves are,” Primula said reasonably. “He was looking at Thorin as he said it, not us.”

“That’s… that’s pulling at strings,” Paladin objected, though he sounded amused rather than horrified.

“Oh, come on,” Primula said persuasively, “Orcs are hardly the most silent of folk, eh? And we’ve heard nothing of them all of this past day. We’re alone up here. All the orcs are out in the big army at the west gate. It’ll be _fine_.”

“Bella can’t walk,” Drogo protested.

“I can _too_ ,” Bella disagreed. “Besides, if you want to release that spirit, you’ll need me. Otherwise, a Casting’s going to take all of you a lot of effort… I know Prim has the strength to do it, but I don’t think she’s ever tried doing it without Crossing before. While I can do it right off the Prime, no halfway world involved.”

“Showoff,” Paladin said, though he grinned this time.

“If you think that Prince Thorin isn’t going to be stubborn about this, you’re very mistaken,” Primula said dryly. “He’s going to argue, and start carrying on, and before long, we’ll _all_ be headed out into the depths, if at all.”

“Let me handle Thorin,” Bella said confidently, and Primula sniffed. 

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Besides,” Paladin interjected, “Maybe it’s best if we _do_ take our Anchors. Or at least, we take Nori. He can walk quietly, just as we can.” 

“Bifur’s quiet too,” Esme cut in loyally.

“And we can’t leave those here in the guardhouse defenseless,” Bella added, frowning to herself. “So we can’t all go. All right, Paladin. We can take Nori. And if Bifur can be quiet, his stone sense will come in handy.” 

“And I suppose we should take Bofur,” Primula added, and grinned when Bella glared at her. “He’s a Shaper, Bella. By the Garden, a Shaper! Khazad-dûm was _built_ by Shapers. I’m sure he’ll come in useful.”

“Erebor was built by Shapers too,” Bella retorted, “All their fine, huge halls and bridges and tiers, hollowing out a mountain. But we got around fine without Shapers then.”

“He’s a miner. He knows how to walk carefully.” Esme suggested, and ducked her head when Bella swung her stare towards her. 

“… Fine,” Bella exhaled. “He’s a Shaper, sure. But we’re having a wee bit of a problem.”

“ _Again_?” Paladin asked.

“He can’t seem to work with stone that’s not raw,” Bella said defensively. “But it’s early days yet, and I’m still working on it, all right?”

“Better than nothing,” Drogo mumbled, and cringed a little when Bella _and_ Primula both stared at him. “Sorry, sorry.”

“I suppose,” Bella exhaled tiredly. “All right, we’ll take Bofur. Esme and Bifur. Paladin and Nori.”

“And me,” Primula said stoutly.

“Not you,” Bella shot back. “We can’t take Glóin. He’s the noisiest dwarf I’ve ever met!”

“He doesn’t have to come along.”

“Oh really? And what if something happens to the guardhouse, eh? You won’t be here.”

“We’re going to need _one_ of the warriors. Would you rather we took Thorin? Or Dáin?”

“Dwalin can walk quietly,” Drogo offered, then flinched again as everyone looked at him. “Well, he _can_. He’s not as good at it as Nori, of course. But he’s better than Glóin.” 

“That settles it, I guess. Drogo and Dwalin as well.” Bella exhaled, and squared her shoulders. “And now I’ll go talk to Thorin.”

“Good luck,” Primula said dubiously.

Bella.

Approaching Thorin wasn’t the problem. Large as the guardhouse was, as always, they seemed drawn to each other, always: despite all misgivings, Thorin and Bella were in orbit, circling around each other as though this had always meant to have happened. She had felt it beginning, when she was growing up in Ered Luin, when she had finally understood why Thorin had seemed so increasingly reserved around her. It was something that Bella had treasured and feared in equal measure, convinced as she was that nothing true could happen.

The guardhouse had a bunker with arrow slit windows, that looked out into a solid and uncomfortable darkness. The city had been abandoned for so long that even the smithy lamps had grown cold, and staring out at it, seated at the bench beside one of the windows, Bella thought of Erebor, of its own, guttering lamps. In a hundred years, in two, Erebor too would be fully dark.

She felt Thorin’s presence even before he walked up to her, and Bella smiled wryly at him as he sat down beside her on the bench. She could not quite see the rest from where they were, and Thorin clearly welcomed the privacy, his arm going lightly around her back. His eyes widened a fraction as Bella pulled herself up onto her knees on the bench instead, coming up around level with his head as she reached for him with both hands, drawing him closer. 

The kiss was awkward and soft and nothing like what Bella imagined, no sudden burst of pleasure, no crazy sense of belonging or love or want, but Thorin made an inarticulate and gasping sound deep in his throat and his arms tightened around her, pulling Bella into his lap, fingers curling into her hair as he kissed her more fiercely, near desperately, fumbled and a little too rough and as unpracticed as she was. 

Giggling despite herself, Bella patted Thorin lightly on the shoulder until he let up, then she kissed him on the nose, and back on the mouth, all playful little dotted kisses until Thorin growled and pulled her flush against him again, licking against her lower lip, then into her mouth, wet now, still awkward, but gentle; _now_ Bella felt that she understood, as her thumbs rubbed up Thorin’s bristly jaw, as she felt his eyes flutter shut against her skin.

“I would make you Queen,” Thorin murmured, kissing her throat, and Bella laughed at him, low and breathless.

“I don’t think so.”

“You doubt me?”

“I’ve said that I don’t feel like getting hitched.” 

Thorin sighed, though he didn’t sound irritated, only a trifle exasperated, and he kissed the hollow of her neck. “You mock me _and_ tempt me with the same breath.” 

“Maybe if you didn’t so easily set yourself up to be mocked _and_ tempted.” 

He nipped her for that, under her collar, his chuckle a silent rumble that shook against her when Bella swatted at his shoulders in archly feigned irritation. Bella had thought Thorin would open up her coat, then her shirt, but he did nothing more than hold her, and at her inquiring look, Thorin frowned at her.

“I do not intend to dishonour you.”

“What,” Bella began, which was as far as she got before the laughter bubbled out of her, peals of it, and it felt like the first _real_ , hearty laughter from her since Ered Luin, since she had seen the ghosts of the dead, since poor _Frerin_. Thorin tried to glare at her, but it didn’t help, and in the end, his smile was rueful. 

“I _was_ being serious. The Baggins clan is very respectable and-“

Bella pressed a kiss on Thorin’s mouth to shut him up, though he nipped her again for it. “Yes, we’re very respectable,” Bella said, mirth still brimming over in her tone. “But my mother was Belladonna Took, and _she_ would always do what she wanted.”

“As does her daughter,” Thorin said soberly, and rubbed his palms up her thighs to her hips, then he sighed. “What have you and the other hobbits decided?”

“What… I…”

“Come now,” Thorin said dryly, “ _All_ of you disappearing all at once was _rather_ obvious. And I love and cherish your kin, but as a rule, Tooks are hopeless at keeping secrets.”

Damn Paladin and Esme! Bella set her jaw. “You won’t like it.”

“I didn’t think that I would.”

“If you’re being so very clever today,” Bella said with a touch of exasperation, “Maybe you could give it all a guess.”

Thorin kissed her on the chin instead of taking offense, like she thought he would, then up on the cheek, then over her forehead, his touch achingly soft, nearly reverent, his touch worshipful as he splayed his hands up her spine. “You intend to explore Khazad-dûm. What else could it be?”

“We actually do have a good reason for it.”

“Aye, so you think.” Thorin muttered. “But whatever _I_ think, you intend to go.” 

“Good guess.”

“I know you, Bella Baggins,” Thorin said wearily. “And you will only take Anchors, aye? Let me guess. Paladin and Nori, Esme and Bifur, Prim and Glóin, and Bofur?”

“Pretty close,” Bella admitted, surprised. “Dwalin and Drogo, actually. Instead of Prim and Glóin.”

“And you won’t take me along.” Thorin concluded, an edge in his voice.

“You’re your father’s only heir now,” Bella said gently. “You stay here. Besides, Gandalf might be back at any time. And we won’t be long. There might be spirits trapped down there, in the dark,” Bella added, when Thorin didn’t answer. “Barred from the halls of their fathers. Could we leave them in the dark?” 

“The dead have no hold on the living.” Thorin said, his eyes narrowed. “Bella.”

“I’m not _asking_ you for permission. I’m _telling_ you what I’m about to do next. You’ll be fine here.”

“I’m not worried about _me_.” 

“I _am_ , however, asking you to believe me,” Bella added softly. “When I say that I _will_ come back. I’m asking you to trust me.” 

“That,” Thorin said, his voice unsteady, “Is an unfair thing to ask from me, like this. Like-“

“ _Thorin_.”

“… I believe you,” Thorin grit out finally, after a long silence, “But only because I must.” And he pulled Bella back down towards him, his kiss urgent this time, the gentleness torn from it, and she could but hold on to the clasps of his mail armour, breathe him in, drink deep from fervour and devotion and fear. Perhaps it _was_ unfair. But it had to be done.


	10. Chapter 10

Nori.

“Here are the rules,” Nori said gruffly, as they prepared to leave the guardhouse. “No talking. Use iglishmêk if you have to speak at all. No wandering off on your own to ‘check on something’ - that means you, Esme Took, I’m _warning_ you. I bring up the front, Paladin brings up the rear. No using bindings until absolutely necessary: other than Bifur. All right?”

“Right,” Bella said, mischief in her eyes, even if she wasn’t smiling the way Esme was grinning broadly, and Nori swallowed a deep sigh. If it had been up to him, he would have gone with just Paladin, Bella and Bofur, but the hobbits had already agreed on a way forward and that had been that. A large party was a more noticeable party… and Nori didn’t quite like the idea of leaving just _one_ Anchor pair back in the guardhouse, even if it _was_ Primula and Glóin.

“Mahal willing, we’ll avoid the orcs altogether. But if there’s a combat situation,” Nori grimaced, “Follow Dwalin’s lead. Otherwise, follow mine.” 

“Right,” Drogo murmured, looking ill-at-ease. It had been a surprise to Nori when Drogo had picked the far more warlike Dwalin as his Anchor: the Baggins clan _were_ quite close to the line of Fundin, but still. It had been strange. 

Bofur, in contrast, only offered Nori a glum nod, standing next to Bifur. Dwalin ignored the talk completely, talking quietly with Thorin, and only trotted back up when Nori began to unbar the guardhouse door. Outside, thankfully, it was less noisy than what Nori had feared: the hobbits all walked quietly, and the other dwarves were not utter lummoxes as he had thought.

Khazad-dûm _did_ look like a tomb. Just as the guardhouse had been, the smithy lamps were long dead, and the inside of what had been one of the great dwarven kingdoms was pitch dark. Ordinarily, had Nori stepped into the halfway world, this would not have been a problem, but now, he was forced to use a smithy lamp, hitched to his belt: all the dwarves in their little expedition had one. 

He felt naked and exposed, even though the steps down against the guardhouse were thick with dust, disturbed only by one set of large footprints - Gandalf’s. The way down hugged a rock face tightly, sweeping down to join up with an old thoroughfare, smooth and intact despite the passage of time, a proud archway that ran to Nori’s left and right into the dark.

Gandalf had gone right. Nori turned to look at the hobbits inquiringly, and Bella frowned, looking about, then pointed to the left, and downwards. When Nori arched an eyebrow, she shrugged helplessly, and he bit down on a sigh. Well, it couldn’t be helped. No maps had survived of Khazad-dûm itself, and this remarkably dangerous waste of time, in Nori’s opinion, was at best a guessing game. 

He went left regardless, picking his way over the thoroughfare. One _good_ thing so far was that this entire section seemed disused, and he couldn’t hear or see the orc. They were noisy, filthy creatures: an orc encampment could usually be picked out by the war drums, harsh cries, and the stench from over a mile away downwind, and the emptiness boded well, eerie as it felt.

Nori had grown up on the hard journey west to Erebor, on an ill night lashed with rain, and he had lived most of his life partly above ground, partly within Ered Luin as it was built. Ered Luin, created by dwarven hands and not by Shapers, was provincial compared to this, all narrow tunnels connecting hollowed out caves, like a rabbit warren at times rather than a ‘true’ dwarven city, so Nori had heard from those who had seen Erebor. 

This… this was _different_. He had heard of the tales, seen etchings of Erebor, but Nori was utterly unprepared for how _vast_ a ‘true’ dwarven city was, how intricately each thoroughfare fit into each tier of hollowed housing, like the gears in some impossibly complex stone puzzle, everything perfectly in place. What insane shade of pride had caused his race to raise cities vaster than anything Man had built? Here, there was nothing but gloom to answer him. Mahal, if Khazad-dûm was smaller than Erebor… small wonder the King had tried so desperately in the early years to rally the other dwarven lords to fight the dragon. They had lost so _much_.

The thoroughfare led into a high-arched corridor, not so much a tunnel but a gorgeous walkway, the smithy lamps set high in intricate steel and brass brackets, each setting writhing into angular patterns onto the smoothed stone walls. Murals picked out in tiny tiles of silver and bronze lined the ground, some image of a dwarf, arms upraised, while a spirit-like thing sat close to his shoulders, forging a tower of stone out of the ground. Bofur glanced quickly at it, unnerved, but the hobbits clustered close, gesturing at each other in excitement. Eventually, it was Dwalin who broke up the knot, with a few impatient gestures.

Annoyingly enough, although whatever Bella and the rest had seen couldn’t be too far away, finding a way _down_ was more complex than Nori had expected. They had come out to some sort of wide… merchant’s district, as far as Nori could tell, the shophouses abandoned, some of the stone doors still left wide open. Carved stone signs, all painted in various hues or etched in different colours, had been affixed to the buildings above the sturdily built entrances: some with the purpose of the shop written simply in runes, others painted with cheerful pictures, the paint dulled by the ages. 

Hobbit shops and dwarven shops, Nori guessed, all mixed together in a jumble. He caught Esme in his peripheral vision straying curiously towards a shop entrance, but before he could step towards her, Drogo was pointedly pulling her back towards the group. 

At least someone had his head screwed on right.

The street seemed to stretch interminably in either direction, and Nori hesitated for a moment before looking back towards Bella. Bella’s form flickered briefly, shifting between the Prime and the Other, then she returned, and shrugged, pointing downwards. 

That was hardly helpful. Nori rolled his eyes, then he flinched as Dwalin simply walked right past him, into the nearest shop. 

Swallowing his outburst of indignation before he could voice it, Nori tried to grab for Dwalin’s shoulder, but it was like trying to tow an anvil: Dwalin simply kept on walking, and it was Nori who was dragged a step forward. The warrior dwarf brushed off his hand, and Nori, out of habit, took a sharp look around himself first, checking their environment. 

It was a small shop, dusty as the street, the wares left standing on the counters, undisturbed through the centuries. A pottery shop, of all things: Nori counted jars, vases, even teapots, some hobbit sized, some dwarf sized, and Dwalin was picking his way carefully through the delicate aisles, heading for a shrouded door. Annoyed, Nori hastily tried to catch up with Dwalin again, but Dwalin simply pushed the shroud aside, in a cloud of disturbed dust, and the smithy lamp at his hip cast curved shadows into the stairwell beyond. 

_My brother has told me of cities like these many times,_ Dwalin signed, as Nori blinked dumbly at the stairwell. _There are tiers upon tiers._

Dwalin.

Dwalin had grown up on stories of the great dwarven holds and its kings, told by his brother in between Chancellor duties; for Balin had inherited their father’s position upon his death in Erebor to the Calamity. Even so, nothing had quite prepared him for Khazad-dûm: he felt strung between awe and anticipation and fear.

Only Bella seemed unaffected. She was not the only one who had been born in Erebor, of course: so had Drogo, but Drogo had been but a baby when his family had fled Erebor with the other refugees, and he had no memory of true dwarven cities. Dwalin had expected Bella to look pleased, perhaps, or wistful, but she only seemed calm. Sad, perhaps. It was a little unsettling. 

The merchant’s shop’s basement had opened out to another thoroughfare, this one far more ordinary, probably a service entrance to a service street. The dwarven cities of old had been so intricate, Balin had once told him, like the parts of a single great machine, with all components within their place. A tiered house could open to more than one street; even when set within a wall. 

The lower street did not seem to lead to wherever the hobbits wanted to go, however, and Bella had looked about for a long moment before glancing at the others, then, as though coming to a silent consensus, she had offered Nori a light shrug, and another point. Downwards. They had to go downwards. Nori had rolled his eyes. 

Now they were walking a little aimlessly along the lower street, trying to find a safe stairway down. Dwalin had assumed that Khazad-dûm would be built along the same lines and logic as Erebor, that Bella, a survivor, would have known how to get where the hobbits wanted, but she merely looked puzzled when Nori had questioned her. 

Eventually, when he let out another exasperated sigh, Bella signed, her fingers jerky with impatience, _I was a child when the Calamity came. I never left the Conclave._

Of course. Bella’s mother had chosen Dwalin’s father, the Chancellor: out of necessity, she would have lived within the Conclave, the royal district of Erebor, home to the bloodline of Durin and its adjacent descendants. In theory, the hobbits _could_ live wherever they liked, but Bella had grown up with Thorin and his siblings, had been inseparable from them for as long as Dwalin remembered. They would have had little cause to visit mercantile zones.

 _Apologies,_ Nori signalled, looking embarrassed, but Bella smiled wryly and patted his elbow. _There should be a way down. A maintenance shaft, perhaps. Keep an eye out._

Two hours’ fruitless searching only made everyone footsore and irritable, and Nori called for a break along a stretch of the service road. Dwalin sat down gratefully at a stone bench near the raised edge, with its safety rail, a smooth stone safety barrier that rose out of the very lip of the road, in a wall of fingers of stone, even and rectangular, still perfect despite all this time: they came up to his waist, and were about a fist apart. 

Drogo sat beside him, huffing softly from the exertion. Still plump despite the march here, Drogo Baggins was used to armchairs and pipes and gardening rather than desperate treks through the mountains, and he looked tired and worn. Dwalin had never been entirely sure why Drogo had chosen him: they were poles apart in personality, unlike the Old Gaffer and Balin. But the binding had worked out well, and although they had little in common, Dwalin was fond of the Baggins clan in general. They tended to be a stolid, respectable folk, determined when in the right, and gracious when in the wrong. 

Wordlessly, he passed Drogo a flask of water, and Drogo accepted it gratefully, taking a swig before handing it back. 

_Where is this spirit?_ Dwalin asked. 

_Further down-_

_How much further?_

Drogo looked mildly embarrassed. _We’ve not yet come half the way._

The mines, perhaps, Khazad-dûm’s cursed mines: when his people had dug too deep, and awoken their destruction. Frowning, he glanced over to Bella, waving until he had her attention. _If we go too far,_ he signed, _There will be trouble._

 _It will not be as far as that,_ Bella signed back, then hesitated. _Likely. Khazad-dûm dug deeper than Erebor,_ she added defensively, when Dwalin raised his eyebrows. _And we are not going so far._

_If spirits are souls trapped on the Prime through violence,_ Dwalin signed, _Then we may be headed towards the orc zones._

 _It is not entirely what I am used to,_ Bella replied, and would say no more, even when Nori tried a query. Neither would the other hobbits say a word, and Dwalin bit out an irritated sigh. Like the other dwarves, he would defend Yavanna’s children to the death if need be, because of the pact, but sometimes, they really frustrated him.

Bella.

They finally found a way down after aimlessly wandering about the streets for a few hours. Unlike the orderly Erebor Conclave, Khazad-dûm was a maze: Bella had no idea why certain streets ended in dead ends, or why some only led upwards or laterally inwards. There seemed to be no _down_ in the mercantile zone: they had to move laterally into what looked like some sort of administrative/banking district, which finally had a maintenance shaft behind a wide boulevard with a long-dry fountain.

It seemed prudent to avoid the upper levels: the entire area that they were in was, incredibly _under_ the vast Great Hall, as far as they could deduce from a map that they had found, etched into a huge, curving wall in the boulevard. Dwalin had noted that it was most likely that the orcs resided there, given their size and the space that their ‘pet’ cave trolls needed, and Nori had concurred, and that was that. The Great Hall had once been the heart of Khazad-dûm, the Bridge its main artery, and all these lesser districts were but minor organs, carefully parcelled.

The maintenance shaft was claustrophobically narrow, with steep steps that had clearly been made with only dwarves in mind. They ended up having to alternative on the way down, with Nori first, then Drogo, then Dwalin, and so on, just in case of accidents. Bella’s feet were aching by the time they finally emerged into what had probably once been the sewers, to her disgust, though the passage of time had long changed any refuse to soil and dried up the ground: there wasn’t even a smell any longer. The tunnels here were more utilitarian, the ceilings lower, reminding Bella of Ered Luin, and her smile curled, wry. 

Narrow walkways sat to either side of deep, now dry canals, occasionally connected by flat bridges of stone slabs. The smithy lamps here were all carefully hooded with fine wire miner’s mesh, which prevented open flame from causing explosions when in contact with bad air. 

They’d gone a floor or so _too_ far down, actually, but the sewage tunnels were a good bet: hopefully there would be another shaft going up to wherever they had to go. Bella was beginning to have an inkling about where that might be, and judging from Nori’s sour expression when she pointed upwards, he was catching on quickly as well. 

Still, he said nothing, as they threaded their way through the maze of old tunnels. Idly, Bella wondered where the outflow was going. She had never quite thought about the system in Erebor, and in Khazad-dûm, where _could_ it go? Out of the ranges, into some forest somewhere? Or what? She didn’t even know what happened to Ered Luin’s. 

Thinking this morbidly over, Bella nearly walked right into Bofur when he came to a complete stop. The dwarves were clustered around another maintenance shaft entrance, though this one was labelled with a neat set of runes above it. Like most hobbits, Bella couldn’t read Khuzdul, though she had picked up some words here and there: the stone-language was the province of the children of Mahal alone. 

_Summer Stone Mine_ , Bifur translated, after a moment’s hesitation. _We go up to the mines?_

The hobbits all exchanged uneasy glances. It had been mining that had awoken Durin’s Bane. Still. They had come this far. _We go up,_ Bella signalled.

 _We turn back,_ Dwalin disagreed. _We’ve come far enough._

 _Turn back if you want,_ Bella retorted, and Dwalin frowned irritably at her.

 _We’re not that far down yet,_ Bofur pointed out reasonably. _We’re deeper down than we got to in Ered Luin, but we’re not yet in the deep stone._

Bifur nodded in agreement, and after a long moment, Dwalin sighed, and Nori cautiously took the first step up into the maintenance shaft. It led up only twelve feet or so to a hollowed out burrow: a chamber with multiple exits: one large one, with rusted old rails leading into a dark mouth, and another with steps that led up somewhere. There was also a complicated-looking pulley system that took up an entire wall: Bofur and Bifur clustered around it with a certain sort of professional curiosity, pointing and gesturing to themselves. 

_Lift_ , Bofur explained, when Bella plucked at his sleeve. _Big counterweight. They brought up the metals from here._

Bifur nodded. _Similar system in Ered Luin,_ he signed, _But less complex._

 _How can it be less complex?_ Bella asked, surprised. This system had to be _centuries_ old. Bofur shrugged, however, even as Bifur signed, _Shapers_ , and looked up the lift shaft before shaking his head ruefully. 

Nori was carefully examining a stone desk in the other corner: probably the foreman’s office. He turned a page in an open book, and grimaced as the parchment fell apart under his hands. Edging guiltily away from the desk, he shrugged at Paladin’s grin, and looked pointedly at Bella.

She pointed wordlessly at the track leading into the mines, and Nori sighed, squaring his shoulders. He stared into the mine, for a long moment, then he sighed again, and motioned Bifur and Esme to the front. 

_It’s not far,_ Bella signed reassuringly, and Nori’s expression soured further.

_That… is what I am afraid of._


	11. Chapter 11

Paladin.

Paladin was beginning to enjoy himself.

Most of the scouting he had ever done had been riding the Binding, linked to Nori, skipping in and out of the halfway world and the Prime. That was exciting, certainly, especially when they were scouting as forward scouts for war, or exploring new places. But there was a thrill to actually _being_ on the Prime, separate from Nori and acting under his own agency, taking up the rear: as dangerous as their situation was, this was _fun_.

His sister glanced behind just as he thought this, and grinned, and Paladin grinned back. They were Tookish to the core, after all, and unlike most of the other hobbit clans, the Tooks did so love their thrills. Most of the others simply looked uncomfortable, even the two miners, Bofur and Bifur, clustering closely together and trying not to look too far ahead or behind at the deep dark beyond their lamps, but in Paladin’s opinion, the mines so far seemed safe. Sound carried down these ancient tunnels: they would hear orcs coming from a mile away. Besides, just like the city they had walked through to get here, the mines were thick with dust, left undisturbed for centuries.

Here and there were signs that the mines had been abandoned hastily: once they passed a mine cart, still half full of raw metals, and at another point, they walked past a hastily abandoned pack, which would once have cinched comfortably over its owners back and contained various tools that a miner might need to venture deeper into the stone. Its straps were long rotted now, even if the rest of the pack still seemed to have held together, more or less: the rope had rotted to strands, but the picks and tools that had been dwarven-forged were still intact. Mahal’s children made things to withstand the march of the ages.

The Summer Stone mines were built along dwarf logic: all neat tunnels that led to central hubs, with rails run down the centre for carts, a system that had changed little, it seemed, over the centuries. Dwarves were not a species usually given to fixing something that wasn’t broken: tradition was ironclad, and it was this that made Paladin pity anyone who tried to circle beyond its dictates. Bella was only the latest of a handful.

Shored up with struts, the mines curled inwards, probably heading to one such hub, and knowing the dwarves, it probably looked similar to the same in Ered Luin. Paladin occupied himself by studying the rails, long rusted, and as such, almost tripped right over one when the party came to an abrupt halt, clustering to the front.

The neat tunnel had fallen away, gouged away, actually, opening into a deep crater that seemed to have been bored right out of the deep earth, by something gigantic that had just shaken free: the sloping, steep maw gaped down into the dark and up above, fearsome and absolute. 

This had been what had destroyed Khazad-dûm, Paladin was sure of it. Ancient burn marks still charred the raw stone, gigantic gouges had been torn into the earth where Durin’s Bane had dragged itself to freedom - and then had returned, or had been cast back down. 

Paladin flinched when Bella tapped at his wrist and pointed. And there it was, only a short distance around the lip of the pit, floating next to a heap of old bones and ragged cloth: a scrap of something unfocused, still lingering. A spirit. Paladin couldn’t quite tell, even now, whether the spirit was dwarven or hobbit in nature, and as he squinted at it, Bella started determinedly to walk around the lip of the pit.

Dwalin grabbed at her shoulder instantly, but she twisted away, with an angry look. _We go back_ , Dwalin signed vehemently. 

_We’re already here!_ Bella protested.

 _Using your magic so close to Durin’s Bane could awaken it! Doom will befall us all, Bella Baggins - would you want that to be by your hand?_ Dwalin gestured, anxiety making his movements sharp and fierce. _Think, Bella._

Bella wavered, wide-eyed, then she looked to Drogo, who dropped his eyes, then to Esme, who smiled awkwardly and shrugged, then finally to Paladin. Paladin bit down on a sigh, and stared back at the pit for a moment before glancing to Dwalin. _It is not safe here,_ he signed reluctantly. _We did not know where the spirit was left._

 _Fine,_ Bella signed, defeated. _Blast it all! But you have a point, Dwalin. We leave. I’m sorry._

 _You could not have known,_ Dwalin replied with rather more gentleness, to Paladin’s surprise: the big dwarf even patted Bella’s shoulder awkwardly. _It was a fine sentiment._

 _No. It was a waste of time._ Bella replied, always the hardest on herself, and she stepped away from the pit, turning her back on the spirit. She looked tired and small all of a sudden, and even as Paladin pushed forward to offer some comfort, there was a sudden _clunk_ , then a deeper _plunk_ , and then a slow series of echoing impacts, finishing up with a hollow _boom_.

Paladin turned, very slowly, and rubbed a palm over his face when he saw Esme further away, near the pit, one hand still outstretched over the slumped body of a dwarf in full armour. The helmet had rolled away into the pit, revealing a withered skull. 

Beside Paladin, Dwalin muttered an ugly curse under his breath. 

“Fool of a Took!” Nori hissed, breaking his own rules, and Esme started to open her mouth in protest, but Nori was already pulling her away from the side of the pit. Above them, Paladin noted, with a sick sense of utter inevitability, drums started to roll a deep, basso thunder of war.

Bofur.

The time for stealth was over - they ran out of the mine, and into the sewers, and from there, back up to the maintenance shaft, pale, silent, frantic: the drums were echoing down from the Great Hall, high above, like the bellows of some great and monstrous heart.

The orc found them when they emerged into the banking district - a goblin perched high on the statue in the dry fountain had pointed at them, with a shriek of alarm, and then the orc had… _poured_ out of buildings that Bofur had thought led nowhere, more of them than he had expected.

“I thought this place was meant to be empty!” Paladin yelped behind him. 

“ _Du bekâr! Du bekâr!_ ” Dwalin snapped. “Retreat - but get as many of the bastards as you can! Get across the bridge to the mercantile zone!” 

Bofur felt Bella’s touch on his elbow, for a moment, then her… _consciousness_ slid close, into perfect sync with him, and as he held up his hands, they glowed a pale blue. He backed away from the rushing horde even as Dwalin strode forward and Nori disappeared, trying to pull something from the buildings, from the ground, anything, but again, it felt as though everything was just out of reach, like trying to picture something that wasn’t there. 

He could feel Bella’s frustration and her fear, even as he unbuckled his mattock from his belt instead, and the first goblin that got close got a spike of dwarven steel through its forehead. Bifur snapped something in Khuzdul, and abruptly, one of the buildings that the orcs were coming from collapsed on itself, crushing the bodies within, their shrieks and dying screams rending the air even as Dwalin met the first ranks of orc with a roar.

 _There!_ Bofur heard Bella whisper in his mind, and in the collapsed stone of the now-ruined house, he could _finally_ see the threads, the start of the weaving that he could charge with the binding’s manifest. He reached out, clenching his fists, and the brick and slabs pulled themselves free of the dead and dying, building into a tall stone golem that swung its huge fists into the unsuspecting orc flanks.

 _Incomplete stone,_ Bella murmured, _Damaged stone, in a set, not just a brick-_

Bofur nodded, too busy to answer her: they were being pushed back towards the stone span that stretched out towards the banking area, even as Bifur crushed another building and Bofur built another golem from the ruins. There were just so _many_ , sweeping closer: even Bifur had his mattock out now, defending himself desperately as they both backed up onto the span. 

Nori flashed briefly into view, angling a dagger up and into an orc’s throat, then he flashed away again, just as a shockwave briefly cleared a circle of orc and goblin bodies away from Dwalin. The tall dwarf’s severe face was furrowed in concentration, swathed in pure energy as he swung his warhammer heavily against the ground, earthing his binding’s manifest in a wave of force that swung out in front of him, tumbling orcs and goblins shrieking off the edge of the district.

Then, of all people, _Gandalf_ emerged from one of the shaft exits, right onto the orc flanks, his longsword gleaming as he cleaved into a snarling orc. “Fools!” Gandalf cried at them, as he fought his way over. “What in the name of the Valar are you all doing here?” 

“We’ll explain later,” Dwalin grit out, as he cleared a path to the Wizard with another great swing of his warhammer, and before his binding-driven ferocity the orcs actually seemed to be faltering, even as maces tore down one of Bofur’s golems, crumbling its knees and pulverising its arms, the other surging over towards them to guard Gandalf’s flank.

Beside him, on the stone span, Bifur raised his hands, concentrating, likely about to pull down another house, then he abruptly staggered back a step, blinking comically. Bofur turned on instinct, grabbing for his cousin, even as he saw with horror that a throwing axe had just embedded itself high up on Bifur’s brow, his cousin’s mouth working soundlessly, wide-eyed - and the binding tore apart before Bofur’s eyes, Esme dragged out of the Other… and right into empty space. 

“ _No!_ ” Bofur grabbed for Esme, but she was already falling, wide-eyed and horrified, tumbling away into the emptiness below, and beside him, Bifur collapsed, like a puppet with its strings cut, his breathing going shallow, blood drenching half his face and his beard.

“Retreat!” Dwalin snapped. “Nori, Bofur, get Bifur-“ 

“Oh Mahal,” Nori stared into the space that Esme had been in, so briefly, then he grit his teeth and blurred away into the halfway world, cutting throats with brutal ease as he made his way over to Bofur. They hauled up one arm each, dragging Bifur’s unresponsive form over the span, Dwalin and Gandalf and the last golem covering their retreat. 

Then the drums stopped.

As Bofur watched, in surprise, the orcs started to retreat, first cautiously, looking about, then in a rout, running wildly away towards the exits from where they had come. Blinking, Bofur nearly stopped for a moment to stare, if Nori had not growled at him, and even as Dwalin roared something wordless and shook his warhammer at the fleeing horde, there was a sudden, rumbling _roar_ that shook the very ground that they stood on.

Mahal. They had woken Durin’s Bane after all.

White-faced, Gandalf snapped, “Fly! Fly, you fools!” 

They ran, as fast as they could, Bifur propped between Bofur and Nori, in a wild dash across the wide span, even as something _gigantic_ hauled itself up onto the stone plain of the banking district, knocking sturdy Shaper-made buildings about like kindling. It was a nightmare of darkness and fire, a dragon-horned brutish creature, flame spitting from the gashes in the dull smoke that were its eyes and maw. In one huge hand it held a flaming whip, and with this it struck at them, with a wail and crackle of sound.

Gandalf parried the strike, with a grimace, even as he stepped away from the group. “Go!” 

“You can’t face it alone!” Dwalin snapped. 

“I don’t intend to! Move!” 

They were nearly all the way across the great span, even as Durin’s Bane roared and took its first heavy step onto the stone, then another, then another, lumbering towards them like an unstoppable force right out of madness. With a great shout, like thunder, Gandalf struck the stone before him with blade and staff, and the stone span crumbled away under the creature, tumbling it snarling down into the depths-

Dwalin groaned as they saw the monster twist about, sinking claws into the great column of stone just beside it, somehow arresting its own fall with certain, cruel will, snarling as it started to claw its way back up. 

“Take him!” Bofur snapped at Dwalin, shifting Bifur’s weight, and with a frown, Dwalin obeyed. Bofur concentrated, and there, again, in the stone that the monster was damaging, he could see a… _pattern_. 

Huge stone hands reached out from the gouged rock, grasping at Durin’s Bane, trying to throw it off, punching and pulling. With a shriek, the creature lost its footing, falling into the dark, Bofur watching it go, breathless, wild-eyed. Dwalin, Bifur and Nori were across the span now, in the mercantile lane, taking a breather, and Bofur began to turn away towards them.

Then something caught tight against his ankle, something that _burned_ , and Bofur was dragged right off the span into empty space. He could hear Bella’s scream in his mind, as they fell together, pulling wildly at the raw stone that they passed, nothing to arrest their fall, Bofur dragging his knife from his boot and severing the whip that held him, twisting around and landing awkwardly against the shoulder of the stone giant that he had willed out of the rock beneath.

The stone giant grabbed the monster’s shoulder, using the leverage to hammer punches onto its ribs, its torso, wherever it could reach: Mahal, but Durin’s Bane _stank_ of sulphur and hot coals and something like rot, overpoweringly thick: he ducked blindly as the whip lashed at them, hanging on desperately to the golem, bracing himself and Shaping stone about them. More and more golems leaped out from the raw stone, clinging on to the monster, hammering wildly at its smoky form, and concentrating, Bofur waited until he heard Bella’s cry of _now! now!_ in his mind before willing the golem they were on to leap away, jumping for the walls-

Durin’s Bane roared, and one meaty fist lashed out, shattering first the rough stone torso of their golem, then grabbing the remnants, bearing them down with it even as the golem jointed its hands with other stone Shapings out of the rock and slowed their fall, _desperately_. It was still a rough landing, Bofur knocked rolling from the golem, fetching up hard against a boulder, all his breath slammed out of him. 

Impossibly, despite all the damage it had taken, Durin’s Bane was staggering up to its feet, bellowing its rage, its pain, smashing one golem to fragments with a savage backhand. Bofur started to back away on instinct, trying dizzily to scramble up, to pull himself upright, and he heard, clear as bell in his mind, Bella whisper, _I see you - all of you. Yes. We are. Help us. Help us!_

“Who?” Bofur tried to ask, his tongue thick in his throat, then he stifled a yelp was he was abruptly pulled into a gray world, the rock about them smudging into nothingness, while Durin’s Bane itself seemed to light up in boiling shades of red and orange and black.

 _Calm_ , Bella murmured, as Bofur panicked. _This is the halfway world._

_Mahal’s beard!_ Bofur flinched away as blue… _flames_ seemed to come out of the rock, streaming towards them, hobbit faces, he saw, some of them smudged, five female, three male, all dressed in clothes that Bofur guessed had not seen the light of day in centuries. 

In the strange sight of the halfway world, Bofur’s hands began to burn with a white light so hot that he couldn’t even look down, and in his mind, the whisper of Bella’s voice became a clamour, then a shout, nine voices, his hands raising unbidden and clenching tight.

From the raw stone beside him, as Durin’s Bane strode closer, there was a rumble and a tremor that shook Bofur a step closer to the rock, then a great stone dragon rose, with a gorgeous Shaping that Bofur had never managed to date, a craftsman’s grace to the arch of its horns, the ridges of its teeth, every detail picked out in its coat of stone scales as it surged forward to meet a monster from another age. 

The dragon wasn’t moving to his will - it was the hobbits that drove it, charging it with its wild energy; Bofur could but watch, amazed, as at another gesture from his hands its snake-like neck shot forward, jaws sinking high on the monster’s shoulder, huge claws gouging wildly at the smoke-and-flame form. He was only an Anchor here to the truest meaning of the word: somehow, Bella had called the trapped spirits of her kin to herself - or perhaps they had come unbidden, in answer to a final battle with the enemy that had murdered them. It was Bella who was anchoring them in turn to Bofur, like a chain that slung together the combined, implacable will of eight hobbits whom, in life, had all made Shapers of their Anchors. 

A wildly flailing clawed hand ripped off one of the stone dragon’s wings, but unlike a true dragon, this one felt no pain. Stone teeth and claws flickered with blue flame, twisting and tearing, and as Bofur watched in disbelief, slowly, but surely, a nightmare was torn apart before his eyes. 

When it was done, Bofur collapsed onto his knees, blinking in the sudden, painful stillness in the Prime, and Bella stepped out beside him onto the rock. She raised a hand, as though in farewell, her eyes closed, and Bofur felt the now-familiar tug within him as Bella did a Casting, breathing in, and out. 

Unsteadily, Bofur sat down, and after a while, Bella sat beside him, burying her face in his shoulder. “Well,” Bofur said, his voice shaky, as he stared at the smoking embers of the broken form beyond the now frozen statue of the stone dragon, “Nobody’s ever going to believe me when I tell them what happened.” 

Bella’s shoulders shook, with laughter or grief he could not tell, then she was pushing herself to her feet, dusting off her breeches. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”


	12. Chapter 12

Thorin.

Making camp in the Great Hall of Khazad-dûm felt a little like heresy, but it was a necessity: with not all of the orcs yet cleared from the old city, they needed a defensible space. Rosters of armed patrols were still venturing out into the city, and until it was safe, Thorin preferred his army to stay in one place.

His army.

News of Durin’s Bane awakening had reached Azog more quickly than Thorin and his small, exhausted band could get back to Thráin, especially with Bifur so grievously injured, for all that Nori had volunteered to go on ahead by himself and dare the warg packs. Driven by rage and desperation, thinking Khazad-dûm lost, the remaining orcs had mustered under Azog’s banner and attacked the Gianduin outpost in a savage tide. 

Still, they had fared better than they should. The outpost had been industriously reinforced while Thorin had been gone, and had withstood the siege, with far fewer casualties than the dwarves would had suffered had they met the orcs headlong on the plains. Still, they had been outnumbered, and the siege had grown desperate. The dwarves had held out until Thorin had returned, hammering into the orc flanks with Dwalin at his side and Dáin at the other, and with Nori’s silent work, they had carved their way straight to Azog and taken his head. 

The dwarves rallied, but it was a bittersweet victory. Thorin’s father was dead, felled by arrows, and so was Dáin’s, cleaved nearly in two only a day before by Azog himself, the dwarven host held in order only by the sheer force of Balin’s will, it seemed. 

And now Thorin was King, and Dáin Lord of the Iron Hills, both of them far too young for either of their roles… and Bella was gone. While he walked now on stone that his ancestor had once trod, it was hard to see this as a victory.

“City’s mostly intact,” Balin said quietly, sidling up to Thorin as he brooded over a map of Khazad-dûm that Nori had found in one of the outer guardhouses. “Haven’t seen any orc in days. We could move out and occupy the lower levels soon.”

“Still a fell place,” Gandalf said, perched on a chest in the command tent and smoking his pipe. “But better that your kind occupy it than leave it to the orc again.”

Thorin scowled at Gandalf. Although the Wizard had been invaluable in keeping Bifur alive, miraculous as that was, Thorin couldn’t help but wonder - what if Gandalf had never showed up, with his suspicions, with his damnable Wizard business? Would Thorin’s father still be alive… would Dáin’s? Would Frerin… Esme, Bofur… and Mahal. Bella. Thinking of Bella again made the ache burn anew in his chest, and Thorin clenched his hands tightly over the map. They had spent so much blood for an empty city, traded vengeance for regrets.

“Occupy the lower levels and the guardhouses,” Thorin said gruffly. “The residential areas are solidly built, as is Khazad-dûm’s Conclave. We can hold those in turn until the orc are all driven out. As to Durin’s Bane…” Thorin glanced at Gandalf again for a reassurance.

“Its presence is gone,” Gandalf told him, still smoking. “Whatever may have become of Bella and Bofur, they have slain it.” 

“A great deed for the ages,” Balin murmured, and met Thorin’s angry stare with equanimity. “Your pain won’t change that, Thorin. I too have known Bella since her birth. Her clan and mine are usually bound. Besides, Bofur turned out to be a Shaper, and the Shapers of old-”

“Enough.” Thorin snapped, then he sucked in his irritation as Balin merely raised his eyebrows, patient as ever. “Once we have swept all the lower levels and reinforced the city, we should send word to Ered Luin. Dwarves should live in a proper dwarven city.”

“Pity to abandon all the work we’ve done there,” Balin noted mildly. “Better to establish a colony here first. Nothing too drastic. The transition should be made over time. These lands aren’t yet so safe, and we’ve no fields here, no trading partners. The cost of upkeeping this city will be more than we can afford.” 

“Dáin has promised aid.”

“Aye, and with that we can tide over for a wee bit,” Balin continued calmly, “But we’ll have to reopen trade with the human townships, and because of the orc, the closest from about here is Bree, a fair ways west.” 

“The treasuries are likely still intact. The orc have no real interest in gold.” 

Balin shrugged. “Very likely. But gold can only do so much. Don’t look so glum, laddie,” Balin added, clapping Thorin on the shoulder. “It’s my job to think of all the worst things that could happen. And then we work towards making sure they _don’t_ happen, aye?”

Thorin nodded slowly, even as the Old Gaffer trotted up into the tent, then over towards them, then changed direction when Gandalf shifted over on the chest and offered him a bag of tobacco. “Bad business,” the very old hobbit murmured, when he was puffing at his pipe. “Still, at least it’s done.”

Again, Thorin nodded, swallowing his impatience. He had heard variations of the same comment from the Old Gaffer likely a hundred times to date. “Aye.”

“Always knew that girl was special,” the Old Gaffer continued wistfully. “Poor little gel. Her mother was something right fierce, y’know, even when _she_ was a mite.”

Reminiscing was harder to take, but Thorin nodded again. Balin hastily circled over to the Old Gaffer’s side, probably sensing Thorin’s growing irritation. “How did the meeting go?”

“Oh, the usual,” the Old Gaffer said vaguely. “Half of us want to head back, half of us want to stay, but we generally agreed that we’ll wait and see what you lot decide on. Funny thing, though,” the old hobbit continued absently. “Old city like this, abandoned as it was, you’d think that you’d see at least one or two trapped spirits.”

“There _was_ at least one,” Thorin said pointedly. “That’s why Bella and the others…” 

Left. They had left. And Thorin, by Mahal, had waited quietly in the guardhouse for them to return. He had been so _stupid_. 

He should never had let her go. 

“Aye, aye. We heard you the first time,” the Old Gaffer said, puffing at his pipe. “Got me and some of the rest interested, so we went a-looking, in the Garden, of course. Didn’t see no blue spirit. Nothing else, either.”

“But Paladin and the rest definitely _did_ see a spirit. In the Summer Stone Mine.”

“Isn’t there anymore.” The Old Gaffer shrugged. “That’s what I came here to say. Just in case you were wondering.”

Thorin hadn’t, really, but he nodded anyway, sour all over again. Bella’s crazy impulse to do a Casting in the depths of this cursed city had been her death, and Thorin had done nothing about it but wish her luck. 

“That’s interesting,” Gandalf murmured though, suddenly amused. “All the spirits were gone? Even the Shapers?”

“There’s nothing left in here.”

“Hum!” Gandalf closed his eyes thoughtfully. 

“What?” Thorin demanded, his tone edged.”

“Search out the Sky Doors on the map,” Gandalf said, and smiled an irritating smile. “And hurry, I think.”

Nori and Paladin.

All in all, Nori supposed that he wasn’t _entirely_ surprised that when they finally _did_ find Bella and Bofur, the pair of them were having tea close to the East Gate, by a stream, with a Shaped stone pot and little cups.

Paladin had dropped Nori out of the halfway world so quickly that Nori had stumbled, disoriented, and then Paladin and Bella were laughing and close to tears as they leaped into each other’s arms, hugging and slapping each other on the back. Bofur rose up from the little camp more sedately, looking tired, worn and thin, but otherwise none the worse for wear.

“And you didn’t think to just… head back in and check on us, eh?” Nori asked dryly, as he stamped over to sit by the camp.

“Eh,” Bofur shrugged. “We weren’t too sure how the war had gone, and we’d come out of a Sky Door rather close to the East Gate, so we thought, why not, we’ll make our way out here, live off the land and check on things rather than try and chance a journey back through to the West Gate with no supplies. Quite a wee bit of orc and goblins rushed out over the days, but it’s been quiet today. We were just going to have a cuppa and then head in for a peek.”

“Only the two of you,” Nori groaned, shaking his head. “The King’s been frantic.”

“The King?” Bella asked, puzzled. “Why? Because Bofur’s a Shaper?”

“Oh.” Nori blinked.

“That’s right, you wouldn’t have heard.” Paladin hugged Bella tightly a last time, then sat down next to Nori. “Thorin is King now. The old King - and Lord Náin - both fell to the orc.”

Bella grimaced, then she sobered up. “Paladin… Bofur and I spent a bit trying to look for… for Esme. She didn’t make it. We were hoping… I’m sorry.”

Paladin looked away. “Did you Send her on?”

“I did. I’m sorry.” 

“These things happen.” Paladin said softly, and rubbed a hand sharply over his eyes.

Nori cleared his throat, awkwardly. “Other than that, ah.”

“I take it the battle went… badly?” Bofur hazarded.

“Went well, actually,” Nori shrugged. “Was a bit hairy for a while, but from the look of it, we didn’t actually lose as many as we would’ve if we’d met the orc head on. Nasty things. We pissed them off when we kicked the ant’s nest.”

“Azog?” Bella asked.

“Dead. Thorin and Dáin got him. Fair piece of work. They be calling Thorin ‘Oakenshield’ now.” Nori’s mouth tipped up into a wry smile. “‘Course, there’s grander names for you and Bofur.”

Bofur grimaced, even as Bella rolled her eyes. “What happened was just… we’re lucky we got through it,” she said finally, then she finished her cup of tea. “I suppose we should get going, then.” 

“You say it like you’re not looking forward to seeing everyone again,” Paladin said slyly, and Bella rolled her eyes again. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Not again,” Nori muttered.

“Let’s _all_ sneak in. I’ll show you how, it’s easy. We walk the halfway world. Give the King a surprise.”

“He doesn’t like surprises,” Bella noted, though she smiled, her own Tookish nature emerging, and Nori sighed. 

The Great Hall had been mostly cleared, the dwarves having opted to reinforce, repair and occupy the residential district and the Conclave instead. Together, they slipped past the guard patrols, down the stone span from the Great Hall to the Conclave, ducking through the granite gates during a guard change. Bofur was silent beside him in the halfway world, looking more unsettled than anything, though he followed signed instructions to the letter and was quick on his feet, at least.

When they finally came to the throne room, the big stone chair was unoccupied: Court had already come to a close. They went through, instead, to the council rooms down the back, where Thorin and Balin were arguing resources over a map of the city.

As before, Gandalf glanced over at them, as though they were in the Prime itself, and the gray shape that was Thorin looked sharply about, before grumbling, “Nori, if that’s you, this trick is really running thin.”

Bella stepped out into the Prime first, a most Tookish grin on her face. “How about this one?” she asked, even as Nori walked onto the Prime, in time to see his King go sheet white and stagger against the stone table. 

“Bella?” Thorin breathed disbelievingly, even as Balin let out a cry of delight, and then Thorin was striding over, holding Bella at arm’s length for a moment to study her, to drink in her, then he was hugging her tightly to him, in a crushing bear hug, and Nori averted his eyes. Spy as he might be at times, some moments were too private.

Balin was shaking a sheepish-looking Bofur’s hand, clapping him on the back. “Thank Mahal!” Balin repeated, even when it was Gandalf’s turn to shake Bofur by the hand, the Wizard’s eyes twinkling. “Thank Mahal!”

Thank Mahal. Nori leaned a hip against the stone table, and Paladin patted him on the arm before flickering and vanishing, no doubt to spread the news in the Garden. “C’mon,” Nori said loudly. “Bofur, you’re probably tired of rabbit and grass by now, or whatever you were eating near the East Gate. Let’s get some real food.”

As they filed out quietly from the council room, Nori saw, from the corner of his eyes, Bella tipping Thorin’s chin down, to press their foreheads together.

Bella.

Khazad-dûm never truly slept nowadays, but Thorin still had a rigid sleep cycle that he adhered to like an old cat. “It’s Lithe, Midyear’s Day,” Bella complained, as Thorin stirred beside her, far too early in the morning for anything but more sleep, in her opinion, as always. “Respectable people should still be in bed.”

“Mm,” Thorin hummed, and kissed her temple; Bella muttered and swatted at him in irritation. “I thought you might like to be awake,” he teased. “After all, Mercantile’s all open this year. ‘Finally’, as you said.” 

“Trust dwarves to name all their districts literally,” Bella grumbled, though she rolled over to kiss Thorin on his cheek, sleepy and lopsided, soft lips slanting up over his jaw. Beneath the furs they were both bare, and Thorin grinned as he kissed down Bella’s throat, over the marks he had left just the night before, down to the swell of her firm breasts, and Bella sighed and rubbed the heels of her palms pointedly over the scratches she had left of them hours before. Thorin groaned, pushing up into the pressure, and Bella chuckled, low and hungry and soft. 

“Don’t think that this gets you out of trouble.”

“Perish the thought.” Thorin loved Bella’s breasts, soft and just enough to fit in his big palms: she laughed again as he admired them, then giggled as he mock-scowled at her and rubbed the bristly side of his face against one, before sealing his mouth over a dusky nipple, sucking and licking, knowing that Bella had to be tender yet from before. Small fingers tugged into his hair, but he ignored them, as soft thighs spread and pressed against his flanks, the heel of one furred foot digging pointedly into his spine.

He took the hint, burrowing down under the furs, stopping only to give Bella’s navel a bristly kiss, just to hear her giggle shake through her, a tinkling whisper of mirth that warmed him as he kissed lower, over her thighs, then at Bella’s growl, her heel now kicking lightly and demandingly over his shoulder, Thorin lifted her hips, to give her mound a deliberately slow and thorough kiss. 

Thorin could still taste himself from her, and he chased the dregs of their pleasure, licking into Bella as she started to writhe around him, whimpers shuddering through her little frame, Mahal, she was so _small_. He drank from her until her juices soaked his beard, until her heel dragged high up to dig against his shoulder as Bella arched against him, grinding harder against his mouth as he sucked hard over her folds: at her squeal and the gush of fluid against his tongue, Thorin smirked.

“So smug with yourself all the time,” Bella said, with mock irritation, as Thorin pressed a kiss over Bella’s hip, then up over her ribs, and further up, between her breasts.

“It’s an occupational hazard.”

“Somedays I think your ego needs deflating,” Bella rubbed the heel of her foot against Thorin’s heavy cock, making him groan. “Should leave you like this to take care of that with your hand.” 

“You could,” Thorin said mildly, “Or I could make you come again. Twice.”

“Promises,” Bella retorted, a challenge in her tone, though she bit down on her lip when Thorin pushed in to her: she was still loosened from the night before, still a little pliant from sleep, though she laughed and dug her heels into Thorin’s back again when he ground all the way deep and buried his face in a pillow, forever struggling for control like this. Even now, Bella’s body was like a vise, so tight that Thorin was always afraid that he would hurt her, however long it had been since she had come to his bed, and it was Bella who decided, as always, when she was ready for him to move, with a light nudge to his spine with her foot. 

It was Bella who would growl, “Faster then, damn you!” whenever Thorin started slow, all careful and deliberate thrusts into the tight heat around him, Bella who laughed and whispered, “Don’t you dare, Thorin, I’m not done yet, don’t you dare-“ whenever his breathing hitched into gasps and groans and his thrusts grew stuttered and out of rhythm, pleasure winching over his self-control. 

He slipped his fingers between them, rubbing hard at her folds, and Bella tipped right over the edge with a shout, fingers raking down his back, the shock of pain twisted tight over his pleasure shoving Thorin right over the edge despite himself, as he pumped into her, ecstasy as always a dizzying slew of possessive and desperate desire. 

It was Bella, at the end, who started to laugh. “Twice, eh? Bollocks.”

Thorin grumbled something under his breath, even as he gingerly pulled out and rolled onto his back. “I tried.”

“Not very hard,” Bella said, unmerciful to the last, and leaned up to kiss his nose playfully when Thorin started to protest. He tugged her close, thick fingers in her curly hair, and the kiss slipped down, lips against lips, in their mingled breath again rewritten the age-old promise of forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always a little hard to finish wips nowadays for me, and in the end I couldn't really manage the energy to do a really, really long epilogue the way I've done before. XD;; Thanks for following this story so far! 
> 
> And wow, three films over and done with... it's over... :O What a ride.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: manic-intent  
> tumblr: manic_intent


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